On The Wings of a Phoenix
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Like fire, grief is all consuming. We are helpless in its wake. Some rise from the ashes, stronger and wisened, while others unable to move on carry the flames with them where their souls once lay.
1. Chapter 1

On The Wings of a Phoenix

By: Ridley

Rating: T for language and intense situations

A/N: This story is a continuation of In The Company of Dragons. One will need to read that first to get the most out of this one. It would also be a good idea to read The Line, one of the first stories of The Brotherhood AU, although it isn't necessary. Growing Pains would also probably establish some characterizations, as well.

**The Phoenix - The Story**  
It is said that as early as 500 B.C., people believed in the phoenix, a legendary bird that would live for 500 years. Near the end of its life, the phoenix would build a funeral pyre for itself. As it began to die, it would lay down on the wood; the wood would burst into flames consuming the phoenix after the bird died. The phoenix would emerge anew from the ashes of the funeral pyre stronger and more beautiful than before living on for another 500 years. Thus, the phoenix, the ancient mythical creature that is consumed by flames, only to be reborn anew, is another symbol of transformation and a representation of the grief response. The transformation phase is similar to that of the mythical creature the phoenix, which after burning on a pyre, rises gloriously and triumphantly from the ashes to live again.

_**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS**_

"_**The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise."**_

_**-Miquel de Cervantes Saavedra**_

_Rain, icy cold despite the summer night, fell in sheets from the sky. It pelted his face, breeching his clothes to bite at his skin. _

_Smothering darkness closed in around him, making it hard for his lungs to expand as he ran. _

_Branches, like gnarled claws, tore at his clothes, slashed his face, and pulled his hair as he made it to a grouping of trees. He knew the shelter was his only hope of losing the predator closing in, but the panic welling in his chest told him it was a useless battle. _

_The soft earth made traction hard to find, his feet slipping in the wet leaves. It took away from his usual speed. A root reaching up from the ground grabbed at the toe of his sneaker, effectively breaking his stride and sending him to his knees with a bone-jarring impact. Then the beast was upon him-covering the child he was dreaming about. The boy was scared, already hurt. Caleb wasn't sure how he knew, but a pain in his wrist and knee told him the injuries weren't too severe. Yet. _

_He wasn't given time to dwell on it before he felt strong hands on the boy's arms jerking him up right, the fingers bruising the child's flesh. The man or monster was speaking, but the words were mumbled and his face was still blurred, whether by the rain obscuring the kid's vision or by Caleb's own subconscious the psychic wasn't sure. _

_The unknown increased the fear, giving the faceless being more power. Even though this child seemed to fight harder, Caleb couldn't help but to gasp with each blow dealt, and he jerked when he heard the boy cry out. At first the child's words were as elusive as the attacker's but suddenly the psychic's muffled hearing cleared and the cries became sharp and painful. _

_The sound of his own name being called out sent a wave of shock through his body, like a volt of electricity surging through his brain. He struggled along with the boy as a cold crushing grip closed around the child's throat, trying to permanently silence him. In one final burst of strength the kid struck out again, tearing at his attacker's face. The monster faltered and the boy found enough air to scream again. "Caleb!" _

The psychic jerked to awareness with a gasp, every muscle in his beaten body protesting the sudden, violent movement. He blinked, trying to recapture his stolen breath, momentarily not understanding where he was or what had just happened. Darkness vanished, but the gray light of the cloud-covered day seemed just as heavy as the pitch black permeating his vision. No rain or forest assaulted him. On the contrary, the four walls of his room at the farm offered shelter, squeezing out the lingering tendrils of terror.

Clarity began to slowly push out the familiar disorientation and the psychic took a shallow breath, trying to reign in his racing heart which was threatening to beat its way free from his chest. The exertion did little for his aching ribs, but he mentally shoved the pain away as he physically tossed blankets aside. Shakily making it to his feet, Caleb crossed the room to the boys' adjoining door.

"Deuce?" Caleb called out as he entered. No one answered and the double bed was made, making it seem far too neat and empty. It was absent of its usual residents. No clothes or toys were strewn about and nary was a dog lounging around. Dean hadn't been far from his side since Sam had been taken, and despite the fact that it was unsettling to see the kid so clingy, Caleb had grown use to it. Perhaps, he had even drawn comfort from it. Losing the youngest of the Winchester's had hit him even harder than he imagined it would. Watching Dean go through it was a thousand times worse.

Panic grew as the psychic remembered in clarity the events from three days before, the feelings of loss mixing with the remnants of fear from the vision. His mind scrambled for plausible reasons for the child in his dream to have called out _his_ name even as he turned and started downstairs in search of Dean. Reaves told himself that the sudden intense worry was due in part because Dean had been so upset the night before. Any other considerations were unthinkable.

But a part of him, the loud annoying part that had a crappy way of always being right chided him in a voice sounding a whole hell of a lot like his fathers. It whispered his abilities were trying to tell him something, and that he should pay very close attention-that maybe they had been trying to tell him something all along.

The psychic pushed the absurd thoughts aside and made his way down stairs, reaching out with his mind but finding only fuzzy traces of his friends. That was the last damn time he took the prescription drugs his father had ordered. Between the freaky-ass dreams and the screwed psychic abilities he was sticking to Jim's herbal tea remedies.

"About time you got up." John Winchester's deep voice greeted him as he entered the kitchen, and he hesitated in the doorway everything still feeling a bit surreal. Maybe it had all been a very bad dream. "You okay?"

He blinked, looking at the older hunter, who put down the file he was reading to give Caleb a more thorough once over. "I'm good." Reaves finally replied. He made his way towards the coffee pot, hoping the caffeine would take the edge off of the hint of the headache he could already feel building. The drugs were causing hangover symptoms without the preceding fun parts. "Where is everybody?"

John raked a hand through his hair, rubbing at his bleary eyes. "Mackland left early this morning. He went over to Crossville to talk to the police about the latest missing child. The parents were going to bring in a toy. He was hoping he might get a reading."

Caleb took a drink of the bitter liquid. "All he'll lead them to is a dead body." Of that, he was certain. He might not have remembered the last waking vision he had been privy to, considering he was being pummeled by Conner's goons; but he was sure it had not bided well for whomever he had connected with.

Winchester watched the young psychic as he made his way back to the table, wincing as he eased himself into the chair across from him. "I told him you thought the boy was already dead."

Caleb nodded. "Our bad guy doesn't take time to play-finishes them quick." Reaves shrugged. "At least the ones I've been witness to."

John frowned. "You still not getting a feeling for what it is?"

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the lack of his usual impression of the killer. "I'm still not connecting to the bad guy," he confessed, wincing when he felt John's fingers wrap around his wrist.

"What the hell is this?"

Reaves opened his eyes, glancing down to Winchester's hand, which still held his. Encircling his own wrist were nasty-looking, finger-shaped bruises. The tissue was swollen and hot, and throbbed from where John was prodding it. "I don't know…" Caleb frowned, remembering his latest nightmare. The boy's wrist had been injured.

"Did you have another vision?" Winchester demanded and Reaves shuttered his own reaction before glancing up at him.

"Yeah." He pulled his hand away and John let him. "Same kind of thing."

"You're still connecting with the victim?" Winchester held his gaze and he realized the other man was putting the pieces together. "Have you told Mackland about this?"

"No." Caleb snapped. "I don't even know what _this_ is. It's never happened before."

"Sounds like a damn good reason to talk to him."

"He'll just want to do something to stop it."

John sighed. "Maybe that would be for the best." He didn't know how much more loss his family could take.

"What?" Caleb gave him an incredulous look. "We don't have anything to go on as it is. This is our only good lead."

"I hate to break it to you, Kiddo, but the only lead you've come up with hasn't panned out worth a damn."

Caleb assumed John was speaking of the cross emblem. "I might get more." He had begun to notice a pattern. The nightmares came before the boys actually disappeared, and the waking visions seemed to strike when the actual attack took place. "We still have time for this last one."

John gave him a puzzled look, but didn't ask any further questions. Caleb recognized the haggard gaze and almost felt bad for snapping at him. The last few days without Sam had been hell on everyone, especially John. "I'm not hiding this from Mackland, Kid. He's your father," he finally growled and Reaves sighed.

"Fine. We'll fill him in when he gets back." He raised a brow at the older hunter. "Satisfied?"

"For now." John started to pick up his paper again, but Caleb's words stopped him.

"Where's Dean?"

Winchester's hooded gaze gave away nothing and Reaves felt that nagging sense of fear start clawing at his insides again, like nails on a chalkboard. "Is he out in the barn?"

"No. He went into town with Jim and Joshua."

"What?" Caleb's brow shot up. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

John's frown deepened. "He asked to go. Which is more he's said to me in the last two days combined."

"So you let him go out of guilt?" Reaves shook his head.

John's dulled gaze suddenly came to life and he leaned closer to Caleb. "Do we really need to have this conversation again? You know the one?"

Reaves rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, the one where you remind me to keep my nose where it belongs."

"Exactly." John smirked. "See I told your daddy that you do listen to me from time to time."

"How about we have a different one? The one where I remind you that I've been the one dealing with _your_ son." Caleb pointed to his face that still held faint reminders of his tussle with the twelve-year-old as well as the beating he'd suffered at the hands of Conner's men. "I've been running interference for you, taken my share of shots for the trouble, too, man. You don't get to shut me down in the third quarter."

"Look, I appreciate that you've been there for Dean, Caleb, but I know what's best for him."

"Have you even talked to him?" Caleb snorted. Because from where he had been sitting, John didn't know half of what was going through his son's head. "Have you even mentioned Sammy's name since he left?" Reaves knew the answer to the question. Since Conner had taken the boy, John had spent his days absorbed in the hunt, his nights soaking in the atmosphere of the local bar.

"He hasn't wanted to talk about it!" John snapped.

"That's exactly my point."

"What? Are you turning into Mackland now?" John growled. "You want me to have a heart to heart? Put all my feelings on the table, tell him how I feel like another piece of my soul has been snatched away and I'm just not sure if I have enough left over to get up in the morning, let alone give anything to him?"

Caleb looked away, knowing he couldn't hide his disappointment. "Damn it, John. He deserves more than leftovers." A whole hell of a lot more.

"And that's exactly _my_ point, Kid. It's all I've got at the moment."

Reaves shook his head, looking at his mentor again. The sad part was, it would have been enough for Dean. He needed his father more than ever now. "So what? You just let him handle it on his own? I'm not exactly the touchy-feely type myself, but he's _twelve_."

"Last I checked he wasn't on his own. He was with Jim and Sawyer."

Caleb growled in frustration. He loved the guy, but sometimes he imagined shoving his fist into John Winchester's face would have been so gratifying. "Jim will be busy doing church errands and Josh can be distracted by a strong breeze."

"So what, Caleb? They're in New Haven, not the bustling streets of New York. The kid wanted to get out of the house."

Bobby chose that moment to come in through the back door, Atticus and Scout trailing behind him. If he had heard their shouting match from the porch he didn't let on. "Mackland called," he told them, making his way to the coffee pot. "They found the boy's body. He thought we might want to check out the surrounding area. You know, do the whole Riggs and Murtough routine."

"Did he say if there were any hints of our usual suspects?"

Bobby filled his cup and joined them at the table with a slow shake of his head. He glanced at Caleb. "Not really. Preliminary says the boy was beaten and strangled. There were some other things he wasn't privy to, but nothing supernatural. He hoped me and John, being upstanding detectives, might get the scoop."

"That doesn't make sense. Why would I be connecting with something that has nothing to do with the supernatural?"

"That's a good question." John took another drink of his coffee, glancing down at Caleb's bruised arm and then back up at the psychic. "One you need to talk to Mac about."

"Fine, I'll go get dressed."

"Don't even think about." John stood, staring down at him. "You're not going to the scene."

"Yes. I am. I might pick up on something."

"Or you could have another vision."

"Which would help."

"I don't think so."

"John's right, Kid. Your dad said for you to stay here. Doctor's orders."

"And since when do I need Mac's permission to leave the house. I'm twenty years old."

Bobby scoffed as if Caleb had just pronounced himself ten. "Don't make me take advantage of your delicate condition, smart ass."

Reaves glared at the mechanic. "Mac told you what would happen if you tried anymore of your demonic traps on me, Bobby."

"Oh, so you're fine with tattling to your daddy just not minding him when he's trying to do right by you? I think that's called being a hypocrite, Son."

"Bobby." John held up a hand, signaling the other man to shut up and let him handle things. He met Caleb's fiery gaze. "I want you to stay here and wait for Dean."

"Now who's being a hypocrite?" the psychic asked.

"Look, he'll expect you to be here."

"I guess guilt tactics are genetic." Caleb shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. Whatever."

John exhaled, loudly, feeling the effects of his latest hangover more profoundly. "We'll talk when I get back."

The younger hunter scoffed. "Can't wait."

Winchester sighed. "I mean I'll talk to Dean."

Caleb glanced up at him, doubt clearly written in his amber gaze. "And you'll talk to Mackland," John added, pointedly.

"We'll see."

Bobby and John had only been gone close to an hour when Caleb's cell rang. He was in the process of dressing after a much needed shower and nearly missed the ringing. "Yeah?" he said, after slipping a t-shirt over his head.

"Is that really a greeting?"

Caleb rolled his eyes. He'd been hoping it would be John with some news from the site. News that would clear up all the little doubts nagging away at his Swiss-cheesed mind. "Sawyer? Where are you?"

"Well, there is a large plaque declaring it as the home of America's best apple pie, but it appears to be little more than a mobile home with a rather large cooking bay."

"You're at Mel's?" Caleb raked a hand through his damp hair. "Where's Deuce?"

"That is the million dollar question."

Caleb's mouth went dry, his heart rate kicking into overdrive. "What the hell does that mean?"

"That means that your resident sidekick, who said he would meet me at this questionable eating establishment, has stood me up."

"Goddamnit, Josh. You let him go off by himself?"

"You make it sound as if I set him off in Hell's Kitchen, instead of dropping him at the local library in this carbon-copied Mayberry."

"Yeah, well, Dean isn't exactly Opie Taylor." Caleb stood up from his bed. "What exactly did Dean say? And how late is he?"

"Pastor Jim had work at the church. He asked me to entertain the boy and Dean insisted on going to the library. I offered to go with him but he asked to be alone. Apparently, he wanted to commune with Sam via the child's beloved books. I was trying to be sensitive, but have gotten over that nonsense in the forty-five minutes I have been waiting on him."

"Right." Reaves rubbed a hand over his fresh-shaven face and then a thought occurred to him. "Josh, did you say Deuce wanted to go to the library?

"Yes. I didn't stutter."

"Damn it." Reaves hissed as he once again rushed into the boy's room and found it tidier than usual. Now he realized what was missing. The dragons.

Dean had freaked that first night when they returned to the farm house and he realized he hadn't packed the toy sentinels Sammy loved. He begged Pastor Jim to take him to Louisville, to track down where Conner was staying, but that wasn't to be. Charles had made himself clear about such visits, and established he would make first contact once Sam was settled. Apparently Sammy was still yet to get comfy with grandpa because they hadn't heard one damn thing from him.

"Caleb? What is it?" Joshua asked, and Reaves moved to the dresser in the corner where he quickly jerked one of the drawers open.

"Fuck!" he snapped, finding the empty metal box that usually held Dean's allowance stash as well as any money he could manage to cheat Caleb out of playing poker. They had been playing a lot of poker the last few days and Reaves hadn't had the heart to put much effort into holding his own. He had inadvertently opened the door for Dean to find a whole shitload of trouble. "He's gone."

"Hello?" Josh groaned. "Have you not been listening to me? I know he's gone. So what else are you going on about?"

"He's not just gone from the diner, Josh. He's gone from New Haven."

"What? But that's not possible. I only dropped him at the library a few hours ago."

"And I'm willing to bet that there's been a bus out of there since that time."

"A bus? This hick town has a bus station?"

"It's not too far from the library. Imagine that."

"But he's twelve. Surely he would not take that form of transportation alone. Nor, as a minor would he be allowed to purchase a ticket."

"Yeah. That shows how much you know about Dean. He's done it before." Caleb moved into his own room, gathering his shoes and his gun.

"Great. Just great." Reaves could almost imagine the color draining from the other hunter's face. "Should I call Pastor Jim? Or John?"

"Neither," Caleb snapped. "I'm coming to get you."

"Why does that not sound like the smarter plan? I truly think John should be informed."

John would go ballistic. The last time the kid had went off half-cocked and done something this stupid did not turn out well. Caleb had promised he had his back then, but had failed miserably at protecting him. It wasn't that the psychic honestly thought John would hurt Dean, but he'd witnessed a few punishments in his years with the Winchesters and he could honestly admit he would have rather taken the licks himself than watch Dean suffer through them. Besides he had promised Sam that Belac would be on the job. "Just don't do anything, Joshua. I'll fix this." And he would fix Dean, too. The little shit had played him like a violin.

"But…"

"Who do you think John is going to be pissed at for letting his little boy out from under their watchful eye?" Caleb grabbed his coat, and started for the stairs. "Do you remember the new one he reamed me over the black dog?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"And he _likes_ me, Josh. Hell, I'm practically like the little brother he never wanted. You on the other hand are more like a third cousin removed by marriage-a redheaded step-cousin at that."

He heard the other man sigh. "Fine. I see your point. Where should I meet you?"

"Just stay there. Eat some pie, and see if you can use some of your contacts to track down the hotel that Conner is staying at."

"I didn't think he wanted anyone privy to that information."

Caleb tightened his hold on the phone. "I know John knows."

"How can you be so sure? Is it a psychic thing."

More like a Knight thing. "The man would not let Sam go like that without knowing where he was." Caleb knew John Winchester too well.

"But he said…"

"I know what he said." Reaves sighed, knowing that John had lied to Dean that first night. Apparently Deuce knew his father pretty damn well, too. Caleb could have taken the information, but honestly he wasn't on top of his psychic game, and he wasn't sure if he could trust himself with the knowledge. If he had known that first night when Dean had woken up screaming with the first of many nightmares, he might have driven straight there and strangled Charles Conner.

But apparently Dean had found out. If he had to guess how, he'd bet John had written it in his journal. A journal he had seen the man carry out of the house with him. Joshua would have to pull it off. "Are you saying that you can't get intel, Josh?"

"It's Joshua, and I happen to deal in the intel business. I however feel that we will only be making matters worse by an impromptu visit. John obviously kept it to himself for a reason."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you practically bought Dean a ticket there."

"Fine."

Caleb picked up his keys from the counter and after making sure both dogs were inside, locked the farmhouse behind him. He glanced towards the sky which was gray and angry looking, then to the pond. A foreboding feeling of dread seemed to blow in with the breeze off of the water. "Damn it, Deuce, you better be okay."

_**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSSN**_

a/n: First of all I want to say a super thank you to all of those who have written about Dragons and inquired about this story. I only hope I can fulfill a tiny bit of your expectations. I am always flattered and slightly terrified by the confidence you have in my abilities. Next, I want to thank the best Beta in the world, Tidia. She always takes the time to run through story lines and plot spiders with me. All left over mistakes are mine alone. Last but not least, thanks to those who have pointed out some inconsistencies in Dragons, like Conner's name change. Bg. I promise to fix it, and I appreciate the heads up. Now, chapter two should be up soon, so please let me know what you think so far.-Ridley


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"**_So often,  
we believe that we have come to a place  
that is void of hope and void of possibilities,  
only to find that it is the very hopelessness  
that allows us to hit bottom,  
give up our illusion of control,  
turn it over,  
and ask for help.  
Out of the ashes of our hopelessness  
comes the fire of our hope."-Kristi A. Dyer _**

Dean had done what they asked. He had waited patiently for his brother to call. Three days. Seventy-two hours and no word from Charles Conner. Four-thousand, three hundred, and twenty minutes without hearing his brother's voice. It was the longest amount of time Dean had ever gone without talking to, seeing, or physically touching Sam. He never imagined it would be so hard to go without something. Something that had always been there.

It was like missing a sound you had never really known was there-sort of like how the forest would go deathly quiet on a hunt. It was unnatural to be without his brother. Not to hear his constant chattering, to see his lop-sided smile, or to even be prodded by a knee or clipped by a flying elbow in the middle of his sleep. He missed him so much it physically hurt-a phantom ache nothing could cure. The kind of hurt that promised death. Dean was sure if he didn't see Sam, he might just die.

So it was partially self-preservation that sent him off on a mission he knew would probably end badly. But it was also driven by the big brother gene that said if he was hurting, then Sam was undoubtedly in as much if not more pain. After all, Dean was still at the farm-still had their father even though he was more like a ghost than a real presence these days.

But Caleb was there, and Jim and Mac. They were solid-real. Sammy had no one. Not one single dragon standing guard by his side. He didn't even have his toy sentries that seemed to bring comfort when the real world failed. Dean might not be able to be the Athewm his kid brother needed, but at least he could take him the toy representation. If he got to see Sam in the process, hold him even for a second, it would be worth whatever punishment his father doled out. He had to know if his brother was alright. Besides John had lied to him. Again.

He had suspected as much when he asked his dad where Sam was staying. There was no doubt in his mind his father would know. He had proved himself correct after a thorough investigation of the man's private journal.

Making it into the city had been easy with the money he had won from Caleb over the last few days. He knew the psychic had let him win more often than not, and he felt bad for using Reaves's good intentions against him. But Caleb would understand why Dean was doing it. Caleb always had his back. If anyone would get why he needed to do this for Sam, the older hunter would.

The fancy hotel was easy to find. Dean had taken a cab from the bus station, surprised at how easy people could be convinced by a sincere face, slick story, and a twenty dollar bill bonus. Dominic, the taxi driver, hadn't even asked why Dean didn't have any luggage besides the well-used backpack he was carrying. He was more concerned in making sure Dean showed him he had enough money to cover the fare into the heart of Louisville. For once, the teen was glad most of the world was greedy and blind.

Getting in was easy, making it to the penthouse suite that required a special key was not. Luckily for him, Jose, the elevator attendant remembered their very important guest, Charles Conner, had a grandson staying with him. A grandson he had seen only once in passing, and lucky for Dean the man was literally almost blind, having worked at the hotel for more than fifty years, and getting on in years. Apparently the gap in height and age between Dean and Sam escaped him.

"Tell your grandfather that he needs to get you a special key if you're going to be staying for long," Jose said, giving Dean a pat on the shoulder as he motioned him out into the lavish hallway that would lead to Conner's suite.

"I'll do that." The boy watched the shiny metal doors close and he couldn't help the nervous twinge in his stomach as he took in the surroundings. A huge crystal chandelier graced the high ceilings of the hallway and as he walked his feet seemed to sink into the thick padded gold colored carpet.

Several embossed doors marked his passage, but it was the two large ornate wooden ones at the end that held his gaze. He took a quick breath, hoping Charles would at least let him see Sam before tossing him out or worse, calling the police. Dean could hear the chimes of the doorbell inside and it was only moments before footsteps heralded the door being opened.

An older woman with an impatient smile and a frazzled demeanor greeted him. "Yes? What may I do for you?"

"I'm here to see Sam…Sam Winchester."

"Master Samuel?" The woman frowned, glancing over her shoulder and then back to the lanky boy in front of her. Something seemed to click then because Dean recognized the look of disapproval that flashed in her mousy brown eyes. "I'm sorry...He's not receiving visitors while Mr. Conner is out."

"Manuela, is that the messenger from the office?" A deep voice boomed behind them and Dean flinched.

"Please, it won't take but a minute. I just really need to give him something."

The boy held out his backpack and Manuela raked a hand through her wild hair. "I don't…"

She didn't get to finish because the owner of the voice appeared behind her peering over her shoulder. He was a big man, towering above the woman's five foot stature. His shoulders were broad, filling out the suit he was wearing and he frowned when he caught sight of Dean.

The man looked from Manuela to the kid, raising one eyebrow in interest. "Either he's a lot older than he looks or I'm guessing he's not got my briefs stuffed in that backpack?"

"Briefs?" Dean asked, taking a slight step back.

"Yes. Legal documents." The man smiled, and Dean realized he was younger than he first thought. He might have been a few years older than Caleb, but not by much. "But I would settle for Chinese take-out."

"Sorry."

"He's here for Master Samuel," Manuela explained with a shake of her head.

The man nodded, a knowing look crossing his features. "I see." He pulled the door open wider. "Then perhaps we should ask him in."

"I don't think so, Mr. Marcus. Mr. Conner left very specific orders that no one was to see his grandson," the woman went on, wiping her hands on a large towel she was clutching to her like a security blanket.

Mr. Marcus rolled his eyes. "Yes. Charles is very specific." He turned to Dean. "Who are you, Son?"

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"You're Sam's brother?"

The teen nodded. "I just need to give him something. I won't cause any trouble and I'll leave right after. You have my word."

"See there, Manuela, we have his word."

"But…"

"But nothing." Marcus waved Dean in. "And if I were you I wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth."

The woman stared at him in confusion and the man glanced at Dean. "I bet you can talk your brother into things right?"

"I guess." Dean frowned.

"Because you see, Manuela and Sam have been having a rather loud disagreement about whether he needs a bath and I have a lot of work I need to get done. As long as their shouting match continues I'm afraid that isn't going to happen."

"His head is like rock," the woman defended, hotly.

"Sammy hates baths." That was unless they involved a certain Lab puppy and too much bubble bath.

"But I bet you'd be willing to talk to him for Manuela?" Marcus raised a brow. "You might even be able to make her life a little less stressful?"

Dean easily caught onto what the suit was doing, and although he wasn't sure why the man was helping him, he wasn't about to question it. "Sammy listens to me."

The woman harrumphed. "I do not believe that el Niño listens to anyone."

"What if Dean can get him to unlock the door and come out of the bedroom? Surely you could let him give the boy what he needs to? Then you can do what you need to do, and Mr. Conner won't be upset about his specific directions he left for you to carry out not being completed."

Manuela sighed, and glanced towards the back of the expansive room. "I suppose it would not hurt to let him try." She then whirled back to Dean. "But you must convince him to bathe and eat his dinner. He has not eaten all day."

Dean nodded. "Yes, mam."

Mr. Marcus, who told Dean to call him Peter, led the boy back through the suite past several doors that held what looked like a small library and an office. The hotel room was almost big as Mac's apartment in New York and decorated in similar fashion.

They reached the last room and Peter gestured to the door. "Your brother has been in there about an hour. Manuela has tried just about everything to get him to come out and honestly I thought she was going to have a breakdown before your grandfather arrives home." He jutted his chin towards the door. "I have to admit I've gotten a kick out of watching your kid brother take Charles down a notch or two these last few days, but if I don't get some peace and quiet, I'm going to get fired."

Dean swallowed thickly not sure if he should be comforted by the fact his brother had been the less than model prisoner or if he should be concerned for his safety if their grandfather was to lose his patience. "I'll talk to him."

Marcus started to walk away but then stopped, turning once more to face Dean. "I don't know exactly what's going on with your family, I mean, I'm just a lowly assistant, but I have a feeling Sam's going to be really glad to see you."

"Yeah." The guy didn't know the half of it. Dean leaned his head against the door surprised to hear music coming from inside. It sounded like ACDC and the teen shook his head. He bet old man Conner loved that. "Sammy? You in there?" He wrapped his knuckles against the wood, and raised his voice to be heard over the tunes. "Hey, it's me. Dean."

There were a few moments where he heard nothing, but then a faint rustling sound echoed around him. "Dean?" The voice was unsure and softer than usual, but to Dean it had never sounded so sweet.

"It's me, kiddo. Let me in."

"What's the password?"

Dean laughed, although it came out sounding like a sob. "Birthday Cake." It had been the last one they had used, and it had been Sam's turn to pick. The fact his birthday had only been a few weeks before was very much a factor.

The door was flung open faster than Dean thought possible and he barely retained his balance as he suddenly found his arms full with seven-year-old boy. "Dean!" Sam breathed, squeezing him tight . "I knew you'd come. I dreamed it."

Dean grasped his little brother, fighting back the tears threatening to fall from his lashes. "Of course I came, Sammy," he whispered back. "I promised."

Finally Sam pulled away slightly, his face lighting up. "Did Daddy come, too? Are you taking me home?"

"Sorry, tiger. It's just me."

The smile only faded a little. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." Dean ran his hand over the little boy's head, frowning when he saw dark marks on each of Sam's cheeks. "Are you okay? Are you hurt." He reached up and touched his brother's face.

Sam giggled. "That's war paint. I'm making war on Manuela."

Dean shook his head, noticing for the first time his brother was shirtless and had symbols drawn in paint littering his skin. "Like you did Joshua last summer?" Mac had given the boy a book on Native Americans and Sam had surprised them all by declaring himself to be Little Hawk. He wouldn't answer to anything but that for nearly a month.

The boy nodded. "I put a pox on her, too. She's really superstetic."

"Superstitious," Dean corrected. "And why are you throwing down on the maid?"

"She's not a maid. She's a nanny."

The teen raised an eyebrow. "A nanny?"

Sam looked embarrassed. "My nanny."

"Dude, that sucks."

"I don't like her. Caleb is a much better nanny."

Dean laughed. "Don't let him hear you say that, kiddo."

"Did he bring you?"

The kid had the hopeful look going on again and Dean hated to disappoint him. "No. But he said to tell you hi and he misses you, too."

"Really? Does Scout miss me?"

"Big time."

"I miss her, too. And Atticus and Jim and Mac." He held Dean's gaze. "But I miss you most of all."

"I know. Ditto." Dean finally pulled his eyes from his kid brother and glanced over the boy's shoulder. "But, you have a sweet set up here."

"It's okay. There's a pool downstairs and a park outside."

"Sounds great." Dean forced a smile. "I bet the food is great, too."

Sam only shrugged. "I guess."

"You got to eat, Sammy. Manuela said you haven't eaten anything all day and it's way past supper."

"Can you stay and eat with me?"

Dean looked down at the floor. "Please. You're not leaving are you? You just got here."

"I can't stay long. I'm not suppose to be here. Conner said we had to wait awhile before we could see you."

"He's gone to work," Sam explained. "He works a lot."

Dean swallowed thickly, picking up the bag he had dropped earlier. "Hey, I brought you something."

"What?" Sam perked up again, his eyes going to the backpack.

The teen dug inside the bag, pulling out the four dragon figurines along with the small, plastic black dog. "I thought these might remind you of home."

"My dragons!" Sam took the toys, a sparkle in his eyes. "I was worried I'd lost them when Manuela unpacked my things." He frowned. "Or that Mr. Conner had thrown them away."

"Thrown them away?"

Sam nodded. "He tried to throw WooBee away. He said I was too old for a stuffed toy. But I cried and he let me keep him-for now. But he did throw my clothes away. Even my jacket that Daddy bought me last Christmas. Why did he do that, Dean?"

Dean felt renewed anger surge through him. He new exactly why the man did it. The things weren't good enough for him, and he was trying to erase every piece of Sam's former life. "I don't know, Sam. Maybe he just doesn't understand somethings don't come with a price tag."

"Maybe you should take WooBee back with you. I don't think he's safe here."

A grim line settled across Dean's mouth. "Okay, little brother."

"Hey boys?"

Sam and Dean both looked up as Mr. Marcus appeared behind them. The carpet was too soft and sound absorbing for Dean's liking. "I hate to interrupt, but I thought I'd let you know that Mr. Conner's just called from his car. He's making his way towards the building as we speak."

"Great," Dean growled, raking a hand through his short, blond hair. "Just great."

"Will he be mad, Peter?" Sam asked, looking up at the man.

Marcus kneeled down and plucked the green dragon from Sam's hand. "Probably as full of hot air as this guy."

Sam smiled. "Athewm breathes fire."

"I bet he does." He handed the toy back to the seven-year-old. "You have a nice collection."

"Thanks. Dean brought them to me."

Peter looked at Dean. "I have a few pressing matters that I have to rush out and handle. I can probably distract Charles in the lobby if you know how to make a quiet exit."

"Quiet is my middle name."

Marcus playfully poked the youngest Winchester in the stomach. "What a coincidence. Because I bet Sam's middle name is 'LOUD', huh?"

Sam laughed. "No. It's Johnathan."

"About that?" Dean took his brother by both shoulders. "I want you to listen to Manuela, Sammy. No more making war, Little Hawk."

"But Dean…"

"No buts, kiddo. Really. Don't give her a hard time. You need someone on your side."

"Listen to your brother," Peter added, standing up. "He seems like a smart kid."

"Smarter than he looks on paper," Sam explained, parroting back the words he had heard Mackland say on occasion.

Dean rolled his eyes, reaching out and ruffling the little boy's hair. "Sam's the brains in the family."

"I figured that out after he beat me in chess last night." Peter glanced at his watch again. "You better go."

"Is there a back door out of this place?" Dean asked.

"See, I knew you were smart." Marcus thought for a moment. "I can show you the service elevator. It will put you on the backside of the hotel where you can exit through the gardens. Charles will never be the wiser."

"What about Manuela?"

"I think she will be very grateful to Sam if he rushes and gets his bath taken and eats his dinner before his grandfather makes it back in."

"Sammy?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Oh alright. I'll do it."

"Good."

"I'll let you two say goodbye." Peter moved down the hallway and Dean watched him go, before turning back to his brother.

Sam's eyes suddenly welled with tears and Dean sighed. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer. Are you sure you're okay?"

His brother blinked a few times, sending fat tears down his cheek to mix with the black war paint. "I'm okay," he sniffed. "I just miss you and Daddy."

"We miss you, too. More than you know." Dean pulled the little boy in for a quick hug. "But I'll try and come back soon. Okay?"

Sam nodded and his brother let him go. "Stay out of trouble."

"Don't worry, the dragons will watch out for me."

Sam ran for the bed, grabbing the bear he had hid beneath his mattress. He ran back to Dean and shoved the ragged teddy towards his big brother. "Take WooBee. You'll have someone to sleep with while I'm gone."

Dean felt his throat closing up and knew he needed to go before he lost it. Sam didn't need that. The twelve-year-old mustered the last of his big brother reserves and forced a self-assured smile. "He's safe with me."

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

A/N: Big thanks to Tidia for being the awesome Beta that she is. And always a super thank you to those who review. Speaking of which, I'm sorry that some of the readers viewed the tag on I did for Nightshifters as a slam against our lovely Sam. I didn't intend it that way and I assure everyone that The Brotherhood does not discount Sam or his importance. (smile). But some comments got me thinking and I have been working on an upcoming pre-emptive tag, a prologue of sorts, for Born Under a Bad Sign. Hopefully, it will put the boys back on solid footing. Again, thank you for all your comments-Ridley


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

a/n: Warning for disturbing content. As usual I refuse to write anything graphically violent, but things will be insinuated in the next coming chapters of an unsettling nature. I am in no way encouraging our society's passive acceptance of violence or glorifying anyone who participates in horrific crimes-especially those against children. A big part of my life revolves around figuring out the ways in which the human psyche works; but I hope I never truly understand the workings of a true sociopath's mind.

_snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn_

_**The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.-Joseph Conrad**_

He watched from the shadows, hoping-sensing- that his prey would arrive. _They_ had told him tonight would be special.

The dream they sent was the same-an omen of his destiny. Of the chosen one's destiny.

This could be _the_ one-the final sacrifice to satisfy all that hunger. Perhaps the test runs would end tonight. Maybe he would finally be given the one he was meant to find.

_They_ may have decided to trust him, instead of continuing to toy with his desperation. This could be the one he would finally join with to become whole. His vessel had arrived.

And it might quell the voices demanding he continue to feed them. His torment would stop and he would be born again. It would work this time. He could feel it in the air, even as the rain began-soft at first, then pounding. Holy water to purify the act. It was a blessing and an anointment. A baptism. A foretelling of his rebirth.

This one was blond. His hair reflecting gold under the sparse light. The lightening flashing above them created a halo effect around him. Another sign of his purity. He was the right age-one on the cusp of manhood. Prime for the taking.

Even the stormy darkness could not dim his beauty. His face was almost angelic.

The predator felt his heart rate increase. A warmness spread through his abdomen, heat branching into his limbs, flushing his cheeks. His palms began to sweat and he found himself panting in anticipation of that first beautiful moment when their first touch would come.

Nothing was as sweet as the first touch. The excitement that would flow from one body to the other, lighting up the summer night like an electrical storm. Thoughts of it made him squirm, his body demanding a release that would be premature.

No, he wanted to covet this one-relish in the end of both their pains. They would be beautiful together.

Just a bit farther now, and the gap separating them would be closed. If he was still, patient enough, the butterfly would light on his outstretched hand. Just like when he had been a child. He had been a very patient child.

This one was would be his chrysalis. He had to be.

_**snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns**_

Dean stepped out of the back entrance of the hotel, glancing across the darkened courtyard. There was a huge fountain in the center, a cement angel with her hands raised to the sky in middle of the pool of sea green water. Small spotlights illuminated her; the rain streaming down her face looked almost like tears. Benches framed by flowers that were bending and bowing under the onslaught of the downpour surrounded the meditation garden. Dean made his way to one bench before stopping.

The twelve-year old ignored the cold drops splashing on his own skin, shuddering slightly as thunder rolled and growled in the distance. He dumped his bag on the bench to check his money for the fare back to the city and only hoped he had saved enough. If not he was going to have to do the unthinkable and call Joshua to come get him. Of course as late as it was, his disappearing act had probably been detected, which meant his father and the other hunters would be involved.

Dean sighed when he unzipped his backpack to find the well-worn teddy bear peering up at him with one soulful eye. It was worth it. Seeing Sam had been worth what ever punishment he would have to endure.

Rain started to fall heavier as Dean grabbed WooBee, stuffing him under his arm to free up his hands. He pulled out the old Red Sox ball cap he had stuffed in on a whim and pulled it down on his head. At least it would keep the water out of his eyes as he tried to count the last of his cash.

The heavy, unexpected hand on his shoulder startled him enough to drop WooBee. He whirled around, his ingrained defenses kicking in. Dean was expecting a security guard at the worst, his unwanted grandfather at the least. But it was neither, and coming face to face with the startling white mask right out of one of the slice and dice flicks he and Caleb would watch and make fun of had his mind blanking out in a white hot panic. "What the…

Unlike the sloth-like, steadfast monsters in the slasher films, this thing moved incredibly fast. It struck Dean so hard across the face that he was spun around before his knees hit the cement walkway, the bone-jarring impact stunning him, sending his money scattering across the wet pavement.

Before he had a chance to recover, the thing's claws clamped around his wrist in a crushing grip, jerking him to his feet once more only to deliver another vicious blow he couldn't block. He almost screamed, called out for help. But Dean had been taught that such behavior did nothing but cause his own panic to rise, cloud his thinking, and waste valuable energy that he could use for his defense. His father would be disappointed.

Whether it was the thought of John Winchester, the bitter taste of blood, or the sudden realization he was alone and in real and mortal danger, Dean wasn't sure; but his well-honed instincts kicked in and he lashed out with this feet.

Dean felt the well placed kick connect with his target and was released, his body once again striking the unforgiving ground. Dean lifted his head, catching sight of a stand of trees in the distance. It might give him the camouflage he would need to escape the predator. Without a moment's hesitation he pushed himself to his knees and took off in a sprint towards the shelter.

The monster growled and moaned as he tried to regain his breath from the hot blinding agony the unexpected counter-attack had erupted in his groin. The boy was stronger than the others-a more worthy opponent. But he was still destined to be his. His resistance was just another sign that he was the right one.

With a snarl, the hunter watched the chosen one scurry towards the trees like a startled deer. He struggled to shove the pain away and recapture his focus. After all, he was an expert when it came to pain. And in moments he would relish giving his new found prize a lesson in the art.

_**nsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn**_

If there was a lesson to be learned in all this, Joshua Sawyer was sure it was the one about no good deed going unpunished. In a moment of weakness, he had tried to put himself in Dean Winchester's shoes. The kid had a shitty life basically and although he would never disclose his thoughts to anyone, he actually felt a certain kinship with the child in respect to their fathers.

Of course his own biological sire, Richard Harland Sawyer the third and John Winchester hated one another, but that was in part because both were selfish bastards at times and held impossible standards for those they claimed to care about. Contrary to popular belief, sometimes like repelled like.

But of course that line of thinking had landed Joshua in the current situation of ringing the doorbell of one Charles Conner. Not only a man of unimaginable wealth and power in the business world, but also a man capable of ruining his life, and the lives of most of the prominent members of The Brotherhood.

"Would you stop fidgeting?" Caleb growled, watching Sawyer rock back and forth on his heels.

The older hunter glared at him. "I do not fidget."

Reaves sighed and reached to ring the bell again, but in a bold move Joshua grabbed his arm. "It is not polite to be so impatient."

Caleb pulled away from him, gave him a slight smirk as he punched the lighted button and held it in. "Good thing I could give a fuck about being polite."

"I don't see how your father tolerates you."

"Do you really want to talk about whose daddy loves them more?"

Sawyer blanched. "Are you snooping through my thoughts?"

Reaves shook his head. "Not on purpose." God. He really didn't want to go there. "My abilities are screwed. The concussion and Mac's drugs have given them, excuse the pun, a mind of their own."

"Likely story," Joshua snarled. "I should have never agreed to this."

Before Caleb had time to reply the door suddenly opened and he quickly removed his hand from the doorbell as a harried-looking woman frowned up at him. "May I help you?" She greeted, irritation ringing clearly in her slightly accented voice.

"Is Dean here?"

Joshua sighed at his fellow hunter's subtlety. "We were hoping to speak with Mister Conner."

"Who is it, Manuela?"

"Speak of the devil." Caleb pushed past the woman, barging into the penthouse suite. "Where is he?"

Charles Conner's face twisted into a disdainful scowl. "How dare you come here! We had a deal."

Caleb strode forward. "You and John had a deal. I had no part in it."

"I would have to disagree with that, seeing as how protecting _you_ was a very important piece of the agreement as far as Winchester was concerned."

"Gentlemen, I really do believe this matter has already been hashed out, has it not?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Bobby Singer," Joshua answered quickly and Caleb shot him a heated look. "Please to make your acquaintance."

"This isn't a social call," Reaves snapped at him, before turning back to Conner. "I'm here to get Dean."

"Dean?" Conner frowned. "Dean isn't here."

"Like hell he isn't. I can sense him."

"What are you babbling about?" Conner glared at the younger man. "I haven't seen the other boy since leaving Murphy's."

"And you've been here all day?" Reaves questioned.

"No. I've just arrived home, but I can assure you…"

"Then let me talk to Sam." Caleb cut him off.

"Should I call the police, sir?" Manuela spoke up, timidly from her sentry by the still open door.

"No," Joshua answered before Charles could. "I assure you that won't be necessary. We've just come to collect the boy, and we'll be on our way."

"Samuel is not to see any of you until I deem it appropriate," Conner told them, coldly. He pointedly looked at Reaves. "I have to say this is not helping your case as being one of those that will be allowed any visitation."

"Fuck your visitation." Caleb pulled the gun from the back of his jeans and leveled it at Charles. "Get. Sam. Out. Here."

"For Christ's sake, Caleb. You said you weren't carrying!" Joshua growled, wondering why he hadn't questioned the man's wearing a jacket in June.

"Dios Mio!" Manuela wailed, pulling at her already disheveled hair.

"Just take it easy, lady." Reaves snarled. "Nobody's going to get hurt if your boss does like I asked."

"Fine." Conner started for the hallway, but Caleb shook his head.

"No way. Tell Sawyer where to go."

Joshua sighed at the use of his real name. "Must you drag me into this?"

"Last door on the left," Conner clipped. "I will be talking to my lawyer about your blatant disregard to our contract," he added as the blond hunter moved past him.

Caleb snorted. "I'm not here on behalf of John or The Brotherhood. This is all me. And last time I checked, I'm nothing to you."

"I know your grandfather."

"Then you know who he's going to believe when you go to him with some crazy story about his only grandson breaking into your nice hotel room and waving a gun around like some crazed lunatic." Caleb grinned. "As far as Cullen is concerned, I'm damn near perfect. Grandfathers have a tendency of seeing only what pleases them."

Conner didn't rebuke the statement as Joshua returned with a wide-eyed Sam Winchester.

"Caleb!" Sam pulled away from Sawyer and made a mad dash for Reaves, who quickly returned his gun back to his jeans before catching the boy.

"Hey, runt," he whispered, tightening his hold on the kid, who had practically leaped into his arms. Reaves hadn't realized how much he actually missed the boy until the typical exuberant greeting. "Long time, no see, buddy."

"I saw you last night in a dream," Sam told him, squeezing him back and Caleb laughed.

"Let me guess, I was a dragon." He reluctantly set Sam down and the little boy shook his head.

"Nope, you were just you."

Charles made a move for the phone and Joshua shook his head. "Like I told your lovely employee, Mr. Conner, there is no need for that. We'll be on our way as soon as we have the other child."

Caleb knelt in the floor in front of Sam and couldn't help himself as he reached out and pushed the little boy's too long bangs out of his face. "Good dream or bad dream, Sammy?" He was never sure how much to ask Sam about his dreams. After all, John was adamant the boy not be told about his latent abilities.

The seven-year-old shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Reaves nodded, his mouth forming a grim line. "Speaking of dragons, Sammy, where's Dean?"

Another shrug and this time the kid looked down as his foot began the tell tale move that screamed a lie was on the forefront. "I don't know. I haven't seen him in forever."

Caleb sighed and he gently squeezed Sam's arm, glancing down to the boy's hand that held a very familiar green toy. Reaves raised a brow. "It's important, kiddo. Is he here?"

"He's not here." Sam looked up into the psychic's eyes. "Not anymore. He just left."

"Manuela?" Conner growled.

"He brought me the dragons." Glanced to his grandfather and then back to Reaves. "He didn't stay long. Please don't get mad at him."

"I'm not mad, Sammy." The psychic shot Conner a threatening look. "It's okay. No one is mad at you or Dean." Caleb moved his gaze back to the boy and took the dragon from him. "I'm just…"

The psychic winced as a sharp pain knifed through his skull. He shook his head, trying to refocus on Sam's face that kept blurring in and out of his line of sight. Caleb gripped the toy tighter, hoping to fend off the impending vision. "I need to find your broth…"

Images flared to life, in typical movie projector fashion, and Reaves gasped as his mind rebelled from the intrusion. He felt the world tilt and was barely able to catch himself with one hand as the plush cranberry carpet suddenly rushed towards him.

"Caleb?" Sam tried to grab him as the psychic fell forward, one hand clutching his head. "Caleb!"

"Reaves." Sawyer stepped closer to them, pinning Conner to his spot with a look that promised severe consequences if he dared move.

Sam's panicked gaze found Joshua's. "It's a movie! Something bad is going to happen."

"Take it easy," Sawyer told him, glancing back to Reaves, who was now bent over his knees, forehead resting on the floor. It was obvious he had checked out, caught up in whatever scene he was viewing from within the prison of his mind. "He'll be okay."

Sam stepped closer to the psychic laying his hand on Caleb's shoulder. He repeated hushed reassurances, focusing on Reaves and ignoring Connor who had begun to once again rant about their intrusion.

The psychic felt Sam touch him, along with the electrical surge that came from contact with another with abilities. It actually bolstered his clarity, acting almost like the tracking on a VCR remote.

He tried to take a deep breath to keep from tensing, to ease the transition from one reality to another. The pain wasn't as bad as he expected, considering the lingering effects of the concussion, but the images he was suddenly immersed in gave him no cause for comfort.

It was the same as the earlier nightmare. The darkness was smothering and the rain was cold and relentless. But this time he wasn't running scared, fleeing from the hunter. This time he was stalking the prey.

He recognized the shift instantly. In this vision he was not frightened, terrified of being caught. On the contrary, he was jazzed, almost like a good buzz. Adrenaline still pumped through his veins but this time instead of leading him on a mad dash through the woods, it was propelling him on a quest for a kill.

The thing he was connecting with searched the surrounding area. Caleb could see a fountain lit from beneath the water, an angel jutting up from the blue-green pool, her arms raised heavenward. Flowers of varying shades were being pummeled beneath the heavy drops of rain and a brick path unfolded to his right. But the predator focused in on a stand of trees in the distance and Caleb could just make out the shadowy outline of figure darting across the grass.

Reaves felt the monster take off in a run, himself taken along for the ride. The ground was soft and giving beneath pounding steps. He felt heavy and bulkier than usual, this gate far from being as agile as his own. Still, it was fast, but not supernaturally so.

However, they seemed to eat up the distance quickly and once again, Caleb felt tree limbs tearing at his skin and clothes. It seemed to thrill the monster, increasing the feeling of urgency. The pain was feeding it.

All too soon, Reaves heard the sound of harsh breathing and that of another set of feet tearing through the undergrowth, and then they were upon him.

The boy was running full out when he seemed to trip over his own feet, going down hard belly first onto the unforgiving ground. Caleb felt the laugh bubble from within the beast and wished he could just free himself from the hold of the vision when the thing latched onto the kid and roughly jerked him to his feet.

Blood seemed to rush to his head as the child cried out, the voice unmistakable. Then the predator spun the boy around, backhanding him hard across the face. A face that was recognizable to Caleb even in the pitch black of the fortress of trees.

Reaves felt sick as the thing picked the boy up, striking him again. The victim's terror-filled green eyes locked with his and he heard Dean call out for him just before the thing's hands closed around the kid's throat. "Caleb!"

It was Sam's voice this time, and Reaves felt another jolt of electricity run through him. "Caleb, please wake up."

"This is ridiculous!" Charles growled. "Is this some kind of trick or is he truly a freak of nature?"

"Caleb's not a freak!" Sam's head shot up at the accusation, his youthful face twisted in righteous indignation. "He's a hero. Just like my Daddy. They fight monsters."

"Sam…" Joshua tried to cut the child's tirade but Sam was hearing nothing of it.

"Caleb can see the bad stuff they do before they do it."

Conner shot Reaves a wary look, but then focused on his grandson. "That's not possible, Samuel. I will not have you repeating this nonsense. There will be no lying in this house."

"I'm not lying!"

Before Charles could reply, Caleb let out another pain-filled groan and stirred beneath Sam's touch.

Joshua knelt by his side. "Reaves? You back with us?"

The psychic winced and pushed against the carpet to bring his head up. The room continued to blink in and out, his vision dizzily shifting between Sam's worried face and Dean's bloodied one. "Yeah," he mumbled, finally making it to an upright position.

Scenes from the vision spiked through his head, propelling him to push himself on up to his feet. "Shit," he growled as his stomach rebelled the movement. He swallowed thickly, keeping himself from making a mess on Conner's nice carpet and looked towards Charles. "Is there a fountain around here?"

The businessman continued to stare at Reaves with a mix of fear and loathing so he turned his attention to the woman. The psychic was beginning to feel more grounded in the present, the pain of the vision receding back to the recesses of his mind. But Caleb had a feeling the nightmarish images were permanently burned in his brain.

"It has some kind of statue in the middle of it." Along with clarity came panic. "An angel, damn it?"

"Si." The woman nodded, taking a quick step back as Caleb moved towards her. "It is in the back of the hotel."

"A courtyard?" Reaves berated.

"Si." The woman nodded again.

Caleb swung his gaze to Joshua, swaying slightly on his shaky legs. "Sawyer, we have to get down there. Now!"

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, a frightened look still locked on his young face. "Did you see Dean?"

Caleb laid a hand on his head, wishing he had time to reassure the seven-year-old but positive he didn't have a minute to spare. "It's okay, runt. Don't worry."

"I want to come with you."

"No." Reaves glanced at Charles. "I promise you we'll talk to you tonight. Right, Mr. Conner?"

The man nodded and Reaves hurried towards the door, but the businessman's voice brought him up short.

"Take the service elevator. It's faster," Conner suggested. "It's past the main elevator, at the end of the corridor. It will bring you to the back of the hotel."

Caleb raised a hand to show he had heard but kept moving with Joshua right behind him.

"I'm guessing your interest in this fountain has nothing to do with tossing pennies for wishes?"

Reaves slammed his whole hand on the button that would bring the elevator to them. "No. It's the job John and I have been working on."

"The missing boys?" Joshua watched the light make its slow process to the penthouse floor.

"Damn it!" Caleb slammed the heel of his fist into the wall again. "This thing or whatever the hell it is…it's going after Dean.

"What? Are you sure?" The car arrived and the two quickly boarded it.

Caleb rested his head back against the wall, shoving his hands through his hair. "Believe me, I'm sure."

"You think it's here at the hotel?"

Reaves nodded. "I saw the fountain."

Joshua started to reply but the doors suddenly opened and Caleb rushed out. The glass doors opening to the courtyard were across from the elevator. They led into a semi-lit patio-like area with several stone paths twisting away from it like the arms of an octopus. One path snaked its way straight to the fountain.

The rain was falling hard as Caleb and Joshua ran towards the pool of water. "Fuck!" Reaves swore as his eyes fell on the old L.L. Bean back pack Dean had inherited from him as well as the Red Sox cap discarded on the ground. Then Joshua was bending down picking up a very familiar sopping wet stuffed animal.

"WooBee," Reaves whispered, eyeing the bear.

The other hunter held the dripping animal out at arms length with a disgusted frown. "Pardon?" Joshua raised a brow. "This escapee from the Island of Misfit Toys has a name?"

Caleb took WooBee from him. It had been a constant in the Winchester home since Dean had purchased it for his little brother from a yard sale. "It's Sammy's."

Reaves lifted his eyes and recognized the stand of trees. He dropped the bear and drew his gun from the back of his jeans. Caleb took off at a dead run shouting Dean's name at the top of his lungs. "Dean!"

Joshua let out a string of expletives but removed his own weapon from the Mylar holster beneath his light sport's jacket. "So much for the element of surprise," he muttered before chasing after Reaves.

Dean lay on the ground, dazed from the bad stumble that had landed him face first in a pile of wood chips and wet leaves. He didn't have time to recover his wind before his attacker's blow sent the rest of his breath rushing out of him. Through the ringing in his ears and the pattering of the rain striking the leaves he was sure he heard someone call his name.

The thing grabbed hold of him again before he could be sure. It jerked him up by his collar and this time it seemed immune to Dean's attempts to defend himself. But now he was sure he heard his name being called and recognized the voice through the pounding of blood in his ears. He managed to scream for help just as the monster's hands closed around his throat. "Caleb!"

Reaves heard Dean call out for him. Just like in the nightmare-the same as in the vision.

He knew it meant that time was running out. He opened his senses blocking out every thing except Dean. His vision narrowed, becoming black around the edges and he followed the intense feeling of fear and pain. It led him straight to a small opening where the man in the Michael Myers mask had Dean held up by the throat.

"Let him go you sonofabitch!" He yelled, moving closer to them and levering his weapon on the psycho. Dean was still weakly struggling and the man quickly shifted the boy so that his massive arm was across his throat. Dean's body was held protectively in front of him like a shield. "NOW!" Caleb demanded, releasing the safety on the gun, but knowing he couldn't attempt a shot without risking Dean.

He didn't have a chance to weigh his options further before the killer shoved Dean towards him and took off into the darkness. In hindsight Caleb would realize in that moment he could have pursued the evil, instead of protecting the innocent. He would have it pointed out to him that protocol would have called for him to continue the chase, to leave the hunter watching his six to account for the wounded. But even after mentally replaying it a hundred times, he would still come to the same conclusion. For him, there never was a choice.

"Dean!"

The twelve-year-old crumpled as soon as he was free of the man's hands. Only momentum and Caleb's quick reflexes kept him off the ground again.

"Reaves!" Joshua tore through the underbrush and his gaze landed on the limp form now held in the other hunter's arms.

"Go after the bastard!" Caleb growled, slowly sinking to the ground with the boy cradled to his chest. "Cut him down if you have to."

Sawyer seemed to hesitate but then nodded and once again took off.

"Deuce?" Reaves choked, when Dean's head lolled off his shoulder. He couldn't tell if the kid was breathing and nearly panicked when his fingers brushed against the boy's icy cold skin. "Come on, kiddo."

Caleb roughly patted Dean's face, nearly sobbing in relief when the twelve-year-old jerked in his arms and gasped loudly. "That's it," Caleb dropped his chin to his chest. "Breathe."

Every muscle in the boy's body seemed to tense and a delayed fight or flight reflex had him bucking against Reaves's grasp.

"Hey, it's okay. It's me."

"No!" Dean rasped, shoving weakly at the hands trying to hold him down. He struggled to pull more air into his deprived body. "Don't!"

"Dean!" Caleb snapped. "It's me. Stop it."

"Ca…leb?" He choked.

For a moment Reaves was terrified he hadn't reached Dean in time, worried the bastard had crushed something when he was strangling the kid. "Take it easy. You're safe."

"Caleb…" Dean stopped fighting, settling back against the other hunter's chest, gulping in the air his body had been denied. "That thing…"

"Don't talk." Caleb rubbed a hand up and down his back. "Just breathe slowly, okay?"

"It…hurts."

Reaves remembered the feeling from his visions-like inhaling fire. He held Dean tighter, trying to keep as much rain from hitting him as possible as he felt the tremors start. "Shh, just keep doing it, Deuce. It'll get easier." It took a while, but Dean's breath evened out, and he didn't seem to be struggling as much to pull air in.

"Did…you get him?"

"No." Caleb rested his chin on the boy's hair. "But I got you." Reaves raised his gaze to see if he could catch sight of Joshua or hear what might be happening. If his abilities had been at normal level he would have reached out for the other hunter, checked on his progress. But as it was he was afraid he might startle the man. "Sawyer went after him."

Dean coughed a few times. "I'm… sorry."

The psychic pulled away slightly, ignoring the apology. They'd have a little heart to heart later. "You okay? Where are you hurt?" Reaves ran his hand over the boy's head, wincing at the split lip and cut above his eye. He then ghosted his fingers across the raised red marks on the boy's throat. "Does it still hurt to breathe?"

Despite his gentleness, the kid still flinched. "I…I think I'm okay," Dean replied, shakily.

Reaves sighed and reached out, taking the boy's chin in his hand. "Deuce, now's not the time to play superhero. Tell me what hurts the most." After all he had gotten an up close and personal view of what the sonofabitch had done to the kid.

The boy blinked, still looking dazed and more than a little scared. "My throat…wrist...and knee."

Caleb let him go and looked down at the boy's torn and bloodied jeans. He moved his hands to the deep, jagged wound running across Dean's knee cap and the kid hissed. "Does it feel busted or just banged up?" It was disconcerting that Dean had endured enough injuries to know the difference, but Reaves trusted his judgment.

"Nothing…broken," he replied, hoarsely.

Reaves pulled him close again rubbing a hand up and down his bare arms, trying to warm him up. "That's good. Just hang in there."

Pounding feet quickly approaching them caused Dean to jump and bury closer to Caleb with a whimpering noise of a wounded animal. It sent every one of the psychic's protective senses into overdrive. He cursed Joshua as the blond came into view and slid to a stop near them.

"I lost him in the parking garage." The older hunter panted, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. "Slippery bastard managed to get into one of the security doors. But I managed to get this." Sawyer held up the Halloween mask.

Reaves rolled his eyes. "Great work, Starsky."

Joshua nodded to Dean. "Is he okay?"

Caleb sent a glare to the other hunter. "I can't believe you lost him?" He shook his head. "You couldn't even get a shot off?"

"Excuse me if I didn't open fire in a public arena. Plus, I didn't see you running through the treacherous darkness in this godforsaken monsoon."

Joshua was right about one thing. The rain had picked up, and thunder was rumbling louder in the distance. "We need to get him out of this storm." Reaves managed to make it to his knees, Dean still clinging to him. The twelve-year-old was obviously in shock and possibly hurt worse than he seemed. As it was, he would not be walking out of there on his own.

Sawyer rolled his eyes and stepped forward. "We as in 'me', I suppose? You can barely move about freely on your own. If you were a horse, Jim would have put you out of your misery by now."

Caleb hated to admit the other man was right, but the vision and his adrenaline-fueled run through the courtyard had taken almost all of his reserves. His healing ribs were starting to make themselves known, and he seriously doubted he could hoof Dean back to the hotel. "Still could have moved ass quicker than you."

"If you're quite done with the critique, I'm sick of this rain." Joshua reached down to take Dean, but as soon as he touched the boy, Dean clutched tighter to Caleb.

"Don't!" The twelve-year-old flinched, his voice filled with panic. "Don't go."

"Hey." Caleb held him closer for a moment, speaking into his ear. "I'm not going anywhere. It's just Josh. He's going to help get you back to the hotel."

Dean shook his head. "No."

"I'll be right here and…"

"No hotel," Dean rasped. "Sammy….I…don't want him to see. He'll be scared." And he sure the hell didn't want to see his grandfather in the condition he was in. He didn't want to look weak. It would only give the old man one more thing to use against his father.

"Just…take me home-to Jim's."

"Un-uh, Deuce." Caleb shook his head. "No way."

"Please. I'm okay." The boy gasped, still not letting go of the psychic. "Please."

"Okay, I'm tired of this drama." Joshua exhaled loudly. He frowned at Reaves. "You know you're going to cave. He knows you're going to cave. Please get on with it, so we can all get out of this godforsaken weather."

Caleb lifted his gaze to Sawyer. "You're not helping."

"On the contrary. I'd say I'm trying to be expedient in getting help." His voice lowered. "The sooner we leave, the sooner Mackland can examine him for any serious injury." Joshua was no expert, but the boy was shivering and the marks on his neck were already turning an ugly and garish purple. "For all we know his esophagus could be on the verge of collapsing."

The psychic gave him an exasperated look as Dean once again clung to him. "Nice, Josh." Caleb stood the rest of the way up, ignoring his screaming ribs. "You're okay, Deuce. You've had worst than this from a pesky poltergeist. Mac will fix you up in no time."

"Can we go now?" Joshua asked, petulantly.

Finally, Reaves nodded, but felt his own moment of panic when Joshua easily took Dean from him.

Apparently, the kid felt the same way because he lifted his head to search out the psychic.

"You're fine," Reaves told him, wincing as his body protested the effort to match Sawyer's pace.

"As long as he doesn't bleed on me, that is," Joshua added, and Reaves was almost impressed with the man's diversionary tactic. "The rain has done enough damage but I'm afraid even my miracle worker of a dry cleaner won't be able to remove sanguineous stains."

At least Caleb hoped it was a tactic. "Make an effort to clot, Deuce."

Dean didn't give his usual grin at the bantering, but he did lose the deer in the headlight look, dropping his head back to Sawyer's shoulder. "Don't forget WooBee, Damien," he whispered.

Joshua shot the psychic a glance, and for a moment Reaves almost thought he caught a look of understanding in the blond's blue eyes. But then Joshua was reprimanding Dean for his penchant for trouble and how rude it was to stand someone up after making specific plans.

Caleb sighed. If nothing else, the droning should put Dean out like a light.

_**snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns**_

A/A/N: Thanks so much to Tidia for beta reading this. On a weekend! She's awesome. And I want to send a big group thanks to all of those who have reviewed not only this story but the one-shots I have posted. I am trying to get to everyone individually, but time doesn't allow me a lot of internet access anymore. Please be patient with my lack of diligence in telling each and everyone of you personally how much I appreciate your consideration and effort.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A/N: Okay, today was my birthday and I recieved some great gifts, two of which I am going to share with all of you. One, Tidia did an all nighter to beta this part and the next two chapters of Phoenix. Let me tell you, she had her work cut out for her and she did an awesome job as usual. Secondly, the lovely Tara made a video for The Brotherhood series called _A Friend to Me_, and sent it to me. It was so awesome I had to get her permission to share it with you all. Here is the addy. Check it out. It's so good. Thanks, Tara. Because of fanficnet, I have to spell out the dot(.) and colon (:) parts of the web site, so it will show it. So just keep that in mind. http(colon)//www(dot)sendspace(dot)com/file/oy0ith

And last but not least, thanks to all the reviewers!!! Your comments are inspiring and keep me doing this job that I don't get paid for, but love so much.

_snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns_

_**In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out.**_

_**It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. **_

_**We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit. --Albert Schweitzer **_

Joshua glanced into the backseat as he pulled into the long winding drive of the farm. "How's he doing?"

"He's asleep," Caleb replied softly, pulling Dean closer. He'd wrapped the boy in his own jacket, hoping to fight the onset of shock. "Or unconscious." The psychic hoped it was the former.

"Now for the really important question." Sawyer sighed. "What are we going to tell Winchester?"

"About?"

Joshua frowned into the mirror. "About the attack? About the unscheduled, hostile visit with his youngest son?"

Reaves let his head fall back against the seat as the car came to a stop. He heard Atticus barking. "Just let me do all the talking."

"Gladly." Joshua killed the engine and got out. He went around to the back and opened the door. "After all, such news should come from a brother, not from the red-headed step cousin."

Caleb slid out, keeping a firm grasp of the kid in his arms. "I got him."

Joshua rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself, but don't expect me to explain this situation if you should collapse."

"Your concern is touching, man."

"My God." Mackland stood up first as they entered the kitchen through the back door. He moved towards Caleb, who was holding an unconscious Dean, and also looked on the verge of collapsing.

"What the hell…" Bobby was on his feet too, moving towards the trio. He shifted his gaze between Reaves and Sawyer. "What did you two do?"

The familiar voice along with Mac's touch had Dean stirring against Caleb's chest and he shot his father a pleading look when the kid whimpered. "Dad, he's hurt."

"Joshua," Mac said and the other hunter quickly stepped forward to take the twelve-year-old from Reaves.

Caleb reluctantly let him go, allowing his father to help him to a chair. Dean was awake and blinking owlishly as Joshua gently placed him on the seat next to Reaves. "Boys?" Singer asked again, and Ames glanced at him with a shake of his head.

"Go get John, Bobby."

"What happened?" Mackland was kneeling in front of Dean, carefully running a well-practiced touch over the boy's hair and then down to his neck. "Who did this?"

"The thing John and I have been hunting."

Mac's gaze swung to his son. "What?"

Caleb nodded. "I had a vision…We almost didn't reach him in time."

Ames sighed, but went back to his quick examination. "Dean? Where does it hurt?"

"Check his right knee," Caleb replied before Dean could. "And his wrist is hurt."

Mackland glanced at his son. "I'm asking _him _for a reason, Caleb."

"Sorry." Reaves met the twelve-year-old's gaze and was relieved when the boy rolled his eyes at him.

"Maybe…you should give him a tranquilizer, Mac," Dean sounded more like himself than he had in days, despite the scratchy voice.

Ames smiled, reassuringly. "And let him sleep through your father's tirade? I think not."

As if on cue a pounding of feet heralded John Winchester's gale force entrance into the kitchen. "Dean!" He bellowed, shattering the short reprieve. Jim Murphy trailed closely behind him, a concerned look etched on his weathered face.

The twelve-year-old jumped and his eyes went to Caleb's before his father was upon him. "Where the hell have you been? Jim was worried out of his mind." Jim wasn't the only one.

"John," Mackland interrupted. "He's injured."

John seemed to take in the state of his eldest and his face softened. "Is he okay?"

Dean nodded.

Winchester's accusing gaze suddenly went to Caleb. "What the fuck happened? We tried to reach you and Sawyer both."

"It's a long story, Johnny."

Winchester continued to glare at him. "Then you should get started on it."

Caleb sighed. "He was attacked by that thing. The one we've been after."

John paled and his gaze went back to his son. "What?" He knelt beside Dean's chair, reached out and lifted his chin to get a better look at his son's bruised face. "How in the hell did that happen?"

"I…" Reaves faltered. "I just let him out of my sight for a minute. It happened so fast."

John's dark gaze went back to his protégé. "Why the hell were you there? Sawyer was supposed to be the escort."

Attention diverted to Sawyer, who was standing near the door ready to make a quick exit. "I think Reaves has something to say about that."

Reaves shrugged, knowing the shit was about to hit the fan. "I decided to get some air and then we went to the city."

Winchester released Dean's face and his jaw clenched. "What fucking city, Caleb?"

"Louisville."

John stood with arms crossed in front of the psychic. "Don't tell me…"

"He wanted to see Sammy," Caleb interrupted. "He just wanted to give him the dragons…that's all."

"Goddamnit, Caleb!" Winchester exploded. "What the hell were you trying to prove?"

"I wasn't trying to prove anything," Reaves defended. "We took Sam the dragons. That's it."

John continued to glower. "How the hell did you find out where Conner was staying in the first place?"

In for a dime, in for a whole dollar. Caleb pushed on. "I read you," he lied.

Ames frowned at that. His son's abilities had not been normal since the concussion and he doubted they were up to bypassing John Winchester's defenses. Something was amiss.

"I trusted you!" John growled, buying the Swiss-cheese story in a moment of fury. "You knew that Conner made it clear about the whole visiting thing! How dare you cross that line!"

"Johnathan," Jim tried. "We need to focus on Dean at the moment."

John glanced up at the pastor, who had come to stand beside Caleb. "That's a good point, Jim. How did Dean get attacked, Kid? First you take him into the city to see his brother and then you let him get mauled by that sick psychotic pedophile we've been chasing. The Brotherhood has cost me one son, you trying to finish off the other one?"

"What? A what?" Caleb asked, not quite sure he had heard the other man right.

"John!" Mac snapped. Winchester wasn't the only parent who had watched their child be hurt in this whole mess. "That's enough."

"I'll say when it's enough." Winchester continued to get in Caleb's face, ignoring Mackland. "You knew better and this is just one more reason…"

"Back off, Johnathan!" Mackland said, the calmness in his voice belaying the fury in his gray eyes.

"Dad!" Dean shouted. " It's not his fault. I went to the city alone." Dean stared at his father. "Caleb didn't know where I was either."

Reaves shot the boy a hard look. "Shut up, Deuce. You're delirious."

"You what?" John was looking at his son now.

"I had to see Sammy, Dad. "

Winchester moved away from Reaves, his attention focused solely on his own son. "But how…"

"I read your journal." Dean swallowed thickly, his voice still hoarse. "I ditched Sawyer the first chance I got and hopped a bus into the city. I'm sorry."

Mackland didn't move from his position in front of Dean, so John was forced to tower above them both. "You disobeyed a direct order and went into the city by yourself? On a bus?"

Dean nodded.

Winchester raked his hands through his hair. When exactly had he lost complete control of the situation? "Goddamnit, Dean! I can't fucking believe you would do something that stupid! Again!"

"I'm sorry."

"You should be," John raged. "I get that you're pissed at me about Sam. I understand that you're disappointed in me. But you know what, Dean? I'm pretty damn disappointed myself." The boy could not be allowed to think he could disregard orders. It was a short road to a bad ending.

Caleb felt his pulse quicken, his face heat up as Dean's green eyes filled. John was being his typical hard ass self, but now was not the time. "Fuck, John, if you would have just …"

Winchester swung a piercing glare in the psychic's direction. "You…shut it!"

Reaves started to open his mouth again, but Jim laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze. Caleb looked up at the pastor with an unspoken plea. When all else failed, The Guardian could usually calm the savage beast. Instead, the rescue came from a totally unexpected source.

"Perhaps I should take Dean upstairs? He's looking pale." Joshua spoke up.

All eyes went to Sawyer and he shrugged. "I'm sure the wet clothes aren't doing much for his condition, either. He's shivering. Isn't shock an all too real threat?"

"He's right," Mackland agreed. He stood and maneuvered John back a few steps. "Take him upstairs, Joshua. Help him get into some dry clothes. Caleb can tell us the rest of the details and then I'll be right up."

Dean cast an unsure gaze to Reaves. Caleb nodded, offering him a faint grin. "Mac won't let anything happen to me."

The twelve-year-old shrugged away Joshua's help.

"Let him help you, Dean," Mac told him. "I want to look at that knee before you move around on it."

"I'm not exactly thrilled with this arrangement either." Joshua complained, assisting the kid out of the kitchen and through the living room. There was a set of stairs near the pantry in the kitchen, but they were steep. In addition, Joshua wanted to put some distance between the raised voices and Dean. "But I'm hoping this will give me a chance to continue my reprimand of your earlier disregard for our arrangement."

Dean groaned as they made slow work of the staircase. "I heard you in the car."

"You were asleep in the car." Joshua pushed the door to the boy's room open and helped him inside. "I think the full effect was lost."

Dean sat down on the bed, shooting Sawyer a quick look. "I needed to see Sam. You wouldn't understand."

Joshua frowned, holding the boy's gaze for a moment. "Perhaps not." He shook his head. "But we have a lot more in common than you might think."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right. We're practically twins."

"Your wardrobe?" Joshua asked, ignoring the attitude.

The kid gestured to the closet. "_Clothes_ in there." Dean stressed his choice of words as if to accentuate their differences.

Sawyer removed a clean t-shirt and some sweats from the closet, returning to stand in front of Dean. "I was referring to our fathers."

The kid took the clothes, his green eyes narrowing as he thought of Harland Sawyer. "I don't think so."

"No?" Joshua shrugged and leaned against the small desk by the bed. "They seem cut from the same proverbial cloth, if you ask me." Joshua had disappointed his father too many times to count.

Dean stared down at the tee, trying to decide if he could manage it with his aching wrist. "My dad's a hero," he said softly.

Sawyer sighed, but stepped forward and gently tugged the boy's shirt over his head. "So they tell me over and over again about my own father."

"I guess." Dean shivered as the cool air met his skin. Harland had helped save them a few years before when he, Caleb and Sam had been taken by a man wanting something from Jim. But even then, as a ten-year-old, Dean had picked up on the tension between Harland and his father. Harland was doing what he did out of duty. John Winchester was brave, fearless and loyal. Something Dean was pretty sure Harland Sawyer was not.

"But there is a reason that Superman, Batman, and Spiderman don't have children," Joshua continued to prattle on as he removed Dean's shoes and set them by the bed. "Being a hero is a full-time profession with little room for fallacy or human tenderness."

Dean accepted the blanket Joshua handed him. "My dad's a good dad."

Joshua lifted his gaze to the boy's, taking in the challenging set to his jaw and the determined look in his green eyes. He had a half-hearted thought to disagree, but then realized it wouldn't be worth his effort. He opted for a safe reply. "Lucky you."

Dean frowned, not sure if Joshua was talking down to him or being serious. "At least you have a mom."

The statement caught Sawyer off-guard and he rocked back on his heels. The boy was right. Joshua had grown up with the luxury of discounting his father because he had another parent willing to take care of him, to pick up the slack. "That's true." As he thought of Esme it became suddenly clear why Ames and Murphy were so crucial to the Winchester boys. Why Caleb was important to Dean. "You would like her, I think. She's very kind, and quite stunning."

"My mom was beautiful."

The older man nodded. "I've heard as much."

"My dad loved her more than anything."

Joshua nodded. "I can name many things my father loved more than my mother."

Dean shrugged, looking away towards the door as if suddenly aware of perhaps revealing more than he had meant to. "It's pretty quiet down there."

Joshua stood. "There are quiet ways to kill a person," he offered in jest, trying to lighten the mood in a way he had seen the others do on occasion.

Unfortunately, Dean jerked his head to look at him and Sawyer realized his curse of saying the most inappropriate thing at the most inopportune moment was once again in full effect.

The kid had barely escaped being murdered by strangulation and perhaps joking about silent death was not the best choice. "I mean… I'm sure things are fine. I've seen your father knock Caleb around a bit, but nothing ever life threatening."

The boy continued to stare at him and for the second time that night Joshua found himself in foreign territory. "Fine. I'll go check on matters."

Dean finally nodded. "Thanks."

Sawyer inclined his head. "But I haven't forgotten the insubordination. I'll be filing a report with Jim and feel that it may set you back some time in receiving your hunter's ring."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. He had other things to worry about-his brother, his father, and Caleb meeting an early demise.

A frown marred Joshua's face when the child did not make a flippant remark. He glanced back at the boy. "Try to rest up until Mackland sees to you. I don't want him believing I shirked my duties."

Joshua moved out of the room and back down the stairs. He didn't make it to the last step before Caleb's voice registered, and he entered the kitchen to catch the very end of the hunter's recant of their harrowing tale.

"The poor boy." Jim Murphy's face was pale as he held Reaves's gaze with rapt attention. "Thank God for your gift."

Caleb's eyebrow shot up at that. Jim had told him countless times his abilities were a gift and he usually took it with a grain of salt, but tonight the assurance was more like the pastor was rubbing salt in a raw wound. "Are you kidding me? Some gift." Reaves shook his head. "I've been having these visions for weeks and not once did the damn things show me the danger Dean was in."

"That's not true, Son." Mac interrupted. "You connected to the victims instead of the perpetrator, and now we know why you were linking with these killings when they weren't of a supernatural nature. It was all because of the danger Dean was in."

The psychic rolled his eyes. "So my abilities were playing twenty questions with me? That doesn't make me feel better, Dad. Dean almost died.'

"I'm just saying that I find it interesting that you have this link with Dean." Mackland shared a look with Jim. It was the way of The Knight and The Guardian in more traditional pairings. In the research Mackland had done into past Triads, The Knight had a psychic link to both The Scholar and Guardian. Although it was never noted anywhere that Knights held abilities like Caleb's. That uniqueness usually fell to The Scholar. "As you grow stronger…"

"I don't care about the future, Mac!" Caleb snapped. "I'm pissed about the right now."

"Caleb, you saved Dean because of your gift," Jim said patiently.

"But I could have…"

"You could have never known," Mackland spoke up again. "Then where would that have left Dean? The only thing supernatural about this case is our involvement."

"You said that before." Caleb sighed. "And tell me what the hell did John mean about this thing being a pedophile?" Reaves hadn't been given the chance to ask any questions of his own until he had endured their debriefing and satisfied John with the assurance that Conner wasn't anymore annoyed than usual.

John was the one who spoke up, but he still didn't meet Caleb's gaze. "Bobby and I worked the detective angle with those cops over in Crossville. We got our hands on the preliminary autopsy report."

"And?" Reaves prodded.

Winchester ran a hand over his mouth. "The boy was beaten and strangled."

"I told you that."

"But you only witnessed the initial attack."

"I'm assuming you were spared the rest because you were connecting with the victim. When they died, your link was broken." Mackland placed his hands on the kitchen table. "You weren't privy to the details of the killer's plan."

"What plan?" Reaves demanded. "I don't understand."

"The killings have a ritualistic aspect, but nothing, I think, is linked to any sort of demonic forces/" Bobby set a cup of coffee in front of Caleb. "The markings on the bodies don't make sense and the blood draining is haphazard and messy." He hesitated, glancing to Mackland. "Then there's the whole necrophilia thing..."

"What?" The psychic ignored the steaming drink, his gaze going to his father again. "They were assaulted?"

"Post mortem, yes." Mackland nodded. "I wasn't privy to that information. The FBI has brought in their own profiler but the M.E. was forthcoming with our two resident detectives. She shared that the other boy was also. . ."

"Who commits such a heinous crime?" Joshua asked, joining them at the table. "Do they have any leads?"

Ames shook his head. "They're holding onto the hope that the man might be looking for recognition…his fifteen minutes of fame. That perhaps he'll want to play their game."

Reaves closed his eyes, took a breath to try to calm his aching head. "No. He's not playing with the authorities. He wants something from the victims."

"Why do you say that?" John asked, wearily.

"Because I sensed it. He was hunting for something. He picked Dean for a reason. I can't really explain it."

"Wait," Ames interrupted, holding up his hand. "How do you know this if you were connected to Dean at the time?"

Reaves lifted his tortured eyes to his father. "I didn't connect with Dean, not in this last vision. It wasn't like any of the others or the nightmares. I connected with that sick mother fucker." He seemed to realize what he had said and glanced remorsefully to Jim. "Sorry, Jim."

"Don't be my boy." Murphy sighed. "I dare say your description is quite fitting."

"Caleb…" Ames started, realizing what it must have been like for his son to be in that position when Dean was the one being brutalized.

The psychic shook his head. "Don't, Dad."

The doctor ignored his son's protest, determined to erase whatever inappropriate guilt the younger man was dealing with. "Your instincts to protect Dean kicked into overdrive. That's the only reason you connected with that monster. It gave you an advantage-a way to find him in time. It has nothing to do with anything else."

"Like my grandfather being possessed by a demon when he killed a bunch of children to immortalize himself." Reaves clenched his fists, glancing down to the black and blue bruises on his wrist, the same ones Dean would have in the morning. "So not only do I have to connect with supernatural freaks now…but I can link up to your everyday human monsters too."

"No," Jim spoke up. "I'm quite sure this has to do with your destiny as The Knight, not with whatever connection you may hold to any demonic forces."

Every eye went to The Guardian. It was unlike him to speak about the future, especially in front of the younger generation. Mac wondered idly if his friend would explain further. Perhaps if Caleb understood the position Dean was meant to hold, then it would make it easier for him…

"The Knight is trained to watch out for members of The Brotherhood. If they're in danger, he has an innate sense about such things." His eyes went to Joshua. "Your grandfather, Seth, would show up just in the nick of time to save his brethren. It was uncanny."

Caleb frowned and his gaze went to John as if the man had been withholding information from him.

Winchester held up his hands. "Don't look at me, Kid. I'm not exactly the traditional Knight, and you know that." John had always looked at it as an interim position.

"Nothing about this Triad is traditional," Joshua pointed out, and found all eyes on him for the second time that evening. He shrank slightly in his chair. "Or so my father says."

Jim nodded. "Harland may be correct, but we are The Triad just the same."

"Yes, sir." Sawyer said, contritely. "Dean's waiting for you." He looked at Ames.

Ames shook his head as if he had let himself get carried away in the wrong direction. "I'll get my kit."

"You left him alone up there?" Caleb frowned.

Joshua ignored the younger hunter.

"I'm coming with you." John stood.

"Bring the icepacks from the freezer," Mac instructed him and then turned back to his son. "And you should come up soon. You look almost as bad as you did in the hospital."

"I'm not taking anymore of your drugs, Mac. I need to be sharp with this guy on the loose."

Mac started to protest, but Joshua beat him to it. "I have some natural herbs that will do the same thing as your more modern painkillers."

"Sounds good." Caleb looked up at his father. "I'll take some of Josh's Mojo. Satisfied?"

Ames sighed, casting a quick glance in Sawyer's direction. "As long as I look at it before you take it."

"I assure you it's one of Esme's favorite cocktail ingredients."

"I've been privy to your mother's homemade party favors, Son," Mackland confessed. "Some of the herbs she uses are not legal in industrialized nations."

"Yeah, Mackland got himself shot on a hunt with John one night and your lovely momma fixed the famous Doctor Ames right up."

"Didn't he develop…" John snapped his fingers trying to recall the appropriate words. "You know one of those doctor-nurse crushes after that?"

Bobby laughed, looking from Joshua to Caleb. "Damn. You two could have ended up like the Brady Bunch."

"This is not the time," Mac growled, taking the ice packs from John, and started for the stairs. "We're in the middle of a crisis. I swear you two will never grow up."

Caleb and Joshua exchanged a look and Reaves summed up what they were both thinking. "I think I just threw up a little."

"I'm going to get my kit." Joshua said, wanting to put some space between him and Reaves for a bit.

"Is your kit bigger than Mac's kit?" Bobby asked.

Joshua ignored the grizzly hunter with a sigh, and went to his car.

Murphy stared at Singer, who fidgeted. "I'm going to find something to do."

Jim nodded.

Alone with Caleb, he patted the boy's shoulder and moved to claim the seat Joshua had vacated. "A penny for your thoughts. Or does that cost me a dollar with you these days also? Sammy has upped the ante on me I'm afraid."

Reaves shook his head, toying with the cup of coffee he had yet to touch. "I'm just thinking how I screwed everything up." He flicked his gaze to Jim. "Again."

"I think saving Dean cannot be counted as a mistake."

"Yeah." Caleb pushed the cup away "Hell of a job I did with that."

Jim's frown grew. "I understand you're worried but…"

"I'm going to find him. And when I do I'm going to kill him before he can hurt Dean again."

Murphy exhaled, heavily. "My boy, Dean's safe now.

The psychic shook his head. " That thing won't give up. I don't know exactly what he wanted, but I know to him it was worth killing for. That's not something that's easily let go of."

Jim eyed the boy in front of him, trying to choose his words carefully. The only person harder and trickier to talk to was John. They both were quick to misinterpret things. But where John would lash out, trying to separate himself from what he considered an attack, Caleb would withdraw from what he saw as impending punishment, exiling himself before he could be hurt. "I fear I have failed you somewhere along the way."

"What?" Caleb's head jerked up from his intense study of the design on the placemat. "What are you talking about?"

Jim raised a brow in the psychic's direction. "Whether it was this latest incident with Conner or something else…"

"Jim." Reaves shook his head. "You haven't done anything."

"Then I don't understand why you don't trust me."

"Come again."

"The incident with Dean today." Murphy stared at the young hunter. "I was at a loss when I couldn't find the boy or Joshua. After what happened with Griffin, I can't take anything for granted anymore. I am The Guardian. Sometimes I know you forget that, but I don't have the luxury of doing so."

"I'm sorry." It was true. Caleb took his place in Jim's life for granted. He knew he, Dean and Sam meant more to the older man, but some of that favoritism had to change when Caleb had accepted his ring. He wasn't just one of Jim's boys anymore. He was a hunter. A member of The Brotherhood. Caleb hadn't considered anyone else's reaction but John's. He merely wanted to find Dean and fix things. He looked at the pastor. "It wasn't because I don't trust you. I trust you with my life."

"But not with Dean's?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I can't say that I blame you. After the kidnapping…and the last time Dean pulled a stunt like this." Jim shook his head. "But you more than anyone should understand I have to tread softly with Johnathan. If I push too hard, I'm afraid…" The pastor waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the thought. "And now this thing with Conner."

"None of those things were your fault, Jim. Johnny knows that."

The pastor held the psychic's gaze. "And what happened to Dean tonight is not yours. John knows that."

Reaves exhaled heavily, realizing he was being led into a logical argument he couldn't escape. It was a typical Murphy move. "Jim…"

"I told you when you came to us that we would protect you. That you would have a family you could belong to."

"And you have protected me. I do have a family."

"I have tried to do my best. But the nature of what we do…what I will ask of you, what The Brotherhood will someday ask." Murphy shook his head, feeling the weight of his position made heavier by the events of the last few days. "I fear it is too much for anyone to ask."

"I want to be The Knight, Jim. I don't want to disappoint you or let you down. I don't want to let John down."

"Then we fear the same thing." Murphy reached out and patted the younger man's hand. "Perhaps we both worry too much that we are letting down those we love most, because I can assure you that I have never been disappointed in you."

Caleb favored him with a slight grin. "Ditto."

Jim removed his hand. "But I expect you to follow protocol next time. Let me handle your mentor."

Reaves toyed with his cup of coffee again. "I don't get it, Jim. How can this keep happening?" He met Murphy's solemn gaze. "Sammy's gone! He's gone, and now I almost let Dean get killed by some sick bastard who would have…" The very thought of what the man had done to the other children, what he had in mind for Dean made him physically ill-made him want to kill something. "Damn it! He's just a kid."

"There are some things that I can not explain or understand, my boy. Evil so great, that it is untouchable by our usual methods. Humans can be the scariest of monsters, I'm afraid."

"That thing's not human, and he's not untouchable by me. If I can connect with him, I can find him."

"Caleb." Murphy sighed. "We are not in the business of dealing out punishment to those who commit crimes of this world. It is not the place of The Brotherhood. That is a job for the law-the real law," the pastor specified. "We will track this man and then your father will work with his contacts in the FBI to capture him."

"We dole out justice everyday, Jim. This man hurt one of our own. I have visions for a reason. You told me that. A divine gift is what you called it. You told me it was my way of helping people-saving them." Murphy wasn't the only one who could use logic. "And now you're telling me it's not my place to deal with this. Then why the hell did I have to watch all those kids die? Why did I have to see Dean hurt, to feel like I actually had a part in it?"

"To _save_ Dean."

Caleb glanced away. Joshua had re-entered the kitchen with a large, plastic tool box and any further conversation was quieted. Reaves stood, wavering a moment. "I'm going to check on Dean."

_snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns_

A/N: Some quick notes that I have not had the time to answer one on one: I will definitely be writing the story where Caleb goes to Standford to get Sam. I have mentioned it in several stories as the New Mexico hunt. That's the one. I promise, Sam is not painted in a bad light. (smile). I am also writing the kidnapping story. Both Tidia and I have mentioned important things in other stories concerning the infamous Griffin. He is important in both past and present. I am so glad so many of you remembered him. Harland Sawyer is definitely up in the next story I am currently working on also. Dean is not stupid because he doesn't realize he is the Guardian. He merely does not even for a second consider himself worthy of that position. Kripke created him that way...not me. He even called him 'tragically damaged' so I'm not taking any creative liberties with that one guys. Let's see...anything else...well, I still don't hate Sam, although I'm going to stop trying to convince people of that one. If I don't _I'm _going to have to seek therapy myself. But one more time, both Caleb and I love him dearly. And I don't know where this came from, but I totally think Dean is an amazing hunter, and very capable, but lets face it...he's fun to torture and that's a big point of fanfic. And Sam and Dean are still my favorite characters. Caleb is merely an excellent way to explain some of Dean's characteristics and show more of the brotherly dynamic..blah..blah...blah. (Sam flashback). I also am still terrible at answering reviews, not because I don't so appreciate them or read **every one** of them, but well...I'm just bad at time management. And I really hate it when anonymous reviewers are mean. I can handle criticism and learn a lot from it, but I just don't understand when people leave very hateful, mean-spirited reviews (like calling my work contrite and unoriginal) without allowing an author a chance to reply. I keep reminding myself what one wonderful author has on her page about silence being a writer's worst enemy. I suppose that is true because the wonderfully kind and insightful critical reviews inspire me to write more and the bad reviews drive tme to write better and faster. (evil grin). Whew, I think I'm done now. If anyone is still reading...Chapter 5 will be up this weekend!

Ooh before I forget, in honor of Jensen's birthday, why not drop a letter to CW on why you love the show soooo much. I pledge to do one and challenge you all to do the same. Thanks for reading.-Ridley


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A/N: This early post is a big thank you to the tremendously supportive reviews I received from readers and friends. I never expected such an overwhelming response, but I am incredibly grateful. I hope you enjoy this part. Hopefully, we are about to reach the summit.

_RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsssnsnsnsnsnRcJ_

"_**It's best to have failure happen early in life.**_

_**It wakes up the Phoenix bird in you so you rise from the ashes." - Anne Baxter**_

"Where's Caleb?" Dean asked Mackland.

The doctor noticed his young patient was not making eye contact with his father. He didn't know if Dean believed his father was truly disappointed in him or vice versa. John continued to wrap the ace bandage around his wrist.

"Downstairs." Mac smiled at the boy. The twelve-year-old had been the victim of an attack, and Ames wanted to remind John, and so repeated the question. "Does this hurt?" The doctor carefully prodded the marks on Dean's neck.

The boy's gaze went to the door. "Is he coming up here?"

"Answer Mackland's question, Dean," John ordered.

The twelve-year-old nodded." A little."

The doctor winked at him. "But you can swallow?"

Again Dean nodded and Mac patted him on the shoulder. "I don't think there is any lasting damage, young man. Although talking might be a little painful for awhile and you'll need to stay off this knee too." Dean hadn't been talking much to anyone except Caleb since Sam had gone with their grandfather.

"That won't be a problem," John growled. "He's not going anywhere for awhile."

Dean glanced from his father to the doctor. "Can…Caleb come up now?"

"No," John answered, loudly. "You and your partner in crime have spent enough time together."

Dean tightened his lips together. It seemed as if the child was making a silent promise never to speak again, never to voice his needs.

"John." Mac shot his friend a look. "Could I speak with you a second?"

"Sure." Winchester gave the doctor a frown, but stepped through the adjoining door to Caleb's room. He folded his arms over his chest. "What now, Mackland?"

"Don't push this thing with Caleb. Your son was attacked."

"Your son's the one that's done the pushing, Mac. He lied to me."

"To protect _your_ son." Ames pinned him with a frown. "Is that not what you've drilled in his head for the last seven years?"

"I've also told him to follow orders. Why couldn't he have taken to that idea?"

The doctor raked a hand through his hair, thinking maybe the reason was because Caleb was a lot more like John than either of them wanted to admit. "This is not about your pride, Johnathan. It's about Dean and what he needs."

"And he needs to be babied by Caleb? I don't think so. He needs to stand on his own two feet, Mackland."

"He just lost his brother- the person he loves most in this world. He feels betrayed by you and probably every other adult in his life because of it. And now he's been attacked. He's hurt and frightened." Mackland sighed heavily. "And in case you've forgotten…he's twelve for Christ's sake. If he finds some sort of security in Caleb's presence, don't you dare deny him that."

"I don't want him to hate me, Mac."

The doctor sighed. Sometimes he wanted to beat some sense into the man, but other times when John looked at him and the pain was so visible in the dark gaze he was overcome with a sudden urge to protect him…even if it was from his own stupidity. "He doesn't hate you, John."

"Right. He just can't stand to look at me."

"It will take some time, my friend. There are a lot of wounds to heal, and the physical ones are merely the beginning."

Winchester rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm still pissed at Caleb. The boy is going to have to learn to listen to me."

Mackland snorted. "He utilizes selective listening." The doctor pointed a finger at the other hunter. "Not unlike you. I remember many a time when Jim was not happy with your interpretations of his instructions."

"But I'm a grown-up."

"That is also up to interpretation, you know."

John shook his head. "Damn, Mac. I'm so fucking tired of all this."

The doctor clasped the other hunter's shoulder and squeezed. "We'll figure it all out, John."

"I hope so because I can't lose the rest of my family."

The door to Caleb's room opened and Reaves limped in. "Is this a private conference or can I crash?"

"No rest for the weary, Kid," John said, glancing from Ames to the psychic. "Dean wants to see you."

The younger hunter by-passed his bed and joined the other two men. "Is he okay, Dad?"

"Nothing some rest won't heal. I don't think he'll be getting around very well with that knee. In fact, you two will probably make interesting bookends."

Reaves nodded. "I figured as much."

"He could probably use some company while I clean out the gash on his forehead."

Caleb glanced at John. "That okay with you? Last time something like this happened I was banned from corrupting your son."

Winchester frowned. "I'm still pissed at you, but we'll discuss that later when you don't look so much like a kicked pup."

The psychic snorted. "Like that's ever bothered you before."

"Son, I suggest you don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Right." He nodded and moved the rest of the way across the room, grabbing the book that lay on the dresser then entered Sam and Dean's room.

"He does mean well, Johnathan."

John sighed heavily. "So do I, Mac. So do I."

Joshua followed in a moment later, placing his kit down. He pulled out a plastic bag, and handed it to Caleb. "You need to add this to some boiling water. It's a tea."

Mackland had taken his place again by Dean's bedside and moved his investigation to the bruises on Dean's face and the gash on his forehead. "Joshua, can you tell me what's in that package you are giving to my son?" The doctor then flicked his eyes to John, who had gone back to working on Dean's wrist. "Don't wrap that so tightly."

"I think I know how to wrap a sprain, Mackland."

"And I think I have a medical degree, Johnathan."

Winchester glared at him, but unwound the bandage and began to rewrap it.

"I have arnica for those bruises." Sawyer pulled out a container with white salve inside. "And the tea has kava, chamomile, and essence of poppy. . ."

"Poppy?"

"Not like I am going to the land of Oz." Caleb snorted. "I don't know Dad, I think you should call Josh to consult on all your cases."

Sawyer perked up at that idea. "I can make myself available. I do believe there is a place for. . ."

"Go downstairs, Joshua." Ames dismissed the younger hunter.

"Very well." Sawyer quietly packed up his kit.

Caleb lifted the finely cut herbs in the bag towards Joshua in thanks. With Sawyer gone, Reaves took a seat on the other side of the bed. "You look like crap, Deuce."

Dean glanced up from his inspection of his wrapped wrist and smirked at the younger hunter. "Pot calling the kettle black."

"You finally figured out what Jim means?" Reaves slumped down in one of the chairs in front of the bed. "I still pull it off better than you." The psychic grinned. "And it took _two_ guys to do this to me."

"I'm twelve," Dean pointed out. "And I don't even know what it was that attacked me."

Caleb's smile faded. "They didn't talk to you about that?"

"Not yet," Mac explained.

"What was it?" Dean asked, glancing from Reaves to Ames. "Some evil spirit?" He finally looked at his father. "Dad?"

"It was a human, Ace. Just a very disturbed human being."

"Like a serial killer?"

"That's exactly what he is, Dean." Mackland dug through his medical bag. "A very sick, demented person."

Dean's gaze went back to Caleb. "That's what you've been having visions about?"

"Yeah."

"That sucks."

"Pretty much."

"But I thought serial killers went after girls…I mean was he going to make a coat out of my skin or something?"

"I told you not to let him watch that movie." Ames turned to his son, who shot Dean a frown.

"Why are you looking at me? John's not exactly perseverant on the parental locks."

"Why did this guy want to kill me?"

"Son, people are crazy," John tried to explain. "They're usually worse than anything we hunt."

"Not all people," Mackland was quick to correct. That's all they needed was for John to pass his anti-social tendencies to his son. "Your father is speaking about those few who can't function in the real world for one reason or another."

"Conner said that about us." Dean said softly.

"What?" John asked, stepping closer. "What did Charles say to you?"

"He said we lived in a different world."

"It's not the same thing, Deuce." Caleb frowned. "That's not what he meant." There was no way in hell he wanted Dean thinking that he was some kind of freak.

The kid looked away from them. "Whatever."

"We're going to find him, Dean." Ames assured, as he made quick work of cleaning the cut on Dean's forehead and the scratches on his cheeks. "And the police will handle him."

Dean moved his gaze back to Mackland's, wincing slightly at the stinging the antiseptic brought. "Before he hurts anymore kids?"

"Yes." John and Caleb spoke at the same time.

Ames smiled at the twelve-year-old. "I think you can be sure of that."

"Good." Dean hissed, as Mackland pushed at the edges of the gash to place a butterfly bandage across it. Then suddenly a horrible thought passed through Dean's mind. He backed away from the doctor's ministrations. "What about Sammy? What if he hurts Sam?" The twelve-year-old tried to move off the bed, but was kept still by Caleb and John. "There's no one to protect him."

"Nothing's going to happen to Sam." Reaves said, trying to hold the struggling child.

"Ace, you need to calm down." He noticed his son's wild looks and how he started to gulp in air. "Sammy's protected. I promise." John had made sure of that. Besides, Conner had his youngest son hidden from everyone.

Dean shook his head. He needed to go back to Sam, save him from the monster. Then he felt the prick on his arm. He looked at the doctor and gave him a sad, accusatory look.

"Relax, Dean. It'll be okay. I promise." Mac placed a hand on the adolescent's head, and waited for him to give in to the sedative. They lay him back on the pillows, and the doctor finished applying the neat row of butterfly bandages. "He'll be fine," he said to the two silent hunters watching his steadfast progress.

John cleared his throat. "Why don't you two fill in Jim. I'm going to sit with him for a minute."

Ames ushered his son out of the room and down the stairs into the kitchen. Joshua had boiled some water, and Caleb threw the herbs at him. Bobby and Jim were seated at the table.

"How is he?" The pastor asked.

"He'll be fine. John's sitting with him right now." Mackland replied.

Murphy's gaze went back to Caleb. "Perhaps something you saw in the vision this time can aid in stopping this killer from hurting anyone else."

"I didn't get much of anything new. I didn't even try. I was too focused on Dean."

"As the killer obviously was." Mac rubbed a hand at his weary neck. "As he probably still is."

"What?" Caleb looked up at his father.

Ames exhaled heavily. "The killer has yet to lose a victim. I doubt he'll be happy about this defeat. Most follow strict patterns and yet when they are forced off course, they can become unpredictable-even more dangerous."

"You think he'll come after Dean again?" Caleb slowly shook his head. "Don't you?"

Joshua placed the fragrant cup before him. He crossed his arms, waiting for the younger hunter to take a drink.

In the meantime John entered the room. He heard the comment. He took a seat next to Ames.

"I don't know." Mackland looked at John. "But I think keeping him within sight at all times would be wise. At least until I can get a lock on this man's motive. The FBI has yet to find anything of his at a crime scene. I tried to get a reading from the victim's clothing, but that's never an effective way. I read too much from the victim."

"What if we have something of the killer's?" Joshua asked and Caleb met his gaze.

"Damn. I forgot about the mask."

"Mask?" Mac asked.

"The bastard dropped his disguise when Josh was trailing him."

"I left it in the car."

The doctor's brow furrowed. "It could give me a reading, especially if it was a part of his pattern in the other attacks."

"Speaking of patterns, I want to take a look at where the attack happened," Bobby spoke up, glancing towards Sawyer. "Especially since we didn't notify the local authorities about this latest attack."

"I think that would be very responsible of you, Bobby," Jim told him. "Seeing as how you took advantage of your role of detective earlier today."

Singer nodded. "It all comes full circle, Jim." He looked at Joshua. "That means me and Slick need to take another trip into town. He can play the clueless rookie to my veteran cop."

"At this godforsaken hour?" Joshua protested. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because," Singer snarled. "I'm not psychic and I'm sure as hell not carrying the pretty boy here after he passes out on my ass."

"Take Atticus with you," Jim suggested. "He still has a nose of a five-year-old and I'm sure he would like the chance to play Rin Tin Tin. After all, why should you and John have all the fun impersonating police officers?"

"Good thinking, Captain." Bobby winked at the man, totally ignoring the subtle reprimands. It was no secret that The Guardian did not approve of the underhanded tactics sometimes needed in the name of the hunt. Although Singer knew for a fact that when Jim himself had been in the field he was legendary for the things he could come up with in a pinch.

"Great. Just great." Joshua stood up, grumbling. "First, I have wet, bleeding hunters in my car and now wet, smelly, flea ridden mutts. What's next?" He grabbed his keys from the table. "I'm beginning to feel quite like the glorified chauffer in this little establishment."

"We all have our place, Kid," Bobby informed him, tossing a knowing smirk to Jim and Caleb over his shoulder as he followed the still grumbling Sawyer out the kitchen.

Jim stood up. "Mackland, I prefer if you did nothing with that mask until the morning. It has been a long night for all of us." The pastor was going to sit with Dean for awhile, and say his evening prayers.

"I don't think I could concentrate on it if I tried." Ames replied. He stretched his arms. "Son, I think you should rest."

Caleb drained the last of Joshua's brew. He studied the remnants at the bottom of the cup. "You know this wasn't that bad."

John chuckled.

Jim waited for Caleb to join him. "Good night, gentlemen." The pastor allowed Reaves to go first up the stairs, then made sure he went into his room. "I promise you can do the next watch." He added, knowing the psychic would want to watch over Dean too.

Joshua's tea worked well, allowing Caleb a few hours of sleep before he felt Jim's hand on his arm, waking him. He moved into Dean's room, a pencil, sketch pad and The Three Musketeers in hand.

The twelve-year-old still slept, turned on his side, facing the door. Caleb wasn't surprised that Scout had sneaked her way into the bed next to the boy and was snoring softly. Jim was a sucker for anything with four paws and a tail. It reminded him of Sam and he wished Conner had followed through on his word and let the boy call them. He expected that if things did not change, it would be the first of many disappointments for all of them.

The psychic sat in the chair at the edge of the bed, and began to sketch the ring he had seen so clearly in the vision when the killer's hands had been wrapped around Dean's throat. He lost himself in the repetition of the design until he heard the kid's whimpering.

Reaves knew Dean was having a nightmare, reliving the attack. His first instinct was to wake the kid, but that little hunter's voice taunted him with the opportunity to get closer to his prey. He took advantage of the situation, banishing the guilt he felt, and allowed the images to come to him.

He was immersed in the dream when the twelve-year-old surprised him by jerking straight up in bed with a scream. "No!"

"Easy." Reaves caught his shoulders, gripping them reassuringly. He shouldn't have let the nightmare get so far. "It was just a dream."

Dean was shaking, his breaths coming in harsh pants. One of his hands fisted in the material of Reaves's shirt. "Caleb?" He asked, blinking blearily up at the psychic.

"It's me." Even in the darkened room, Caleb could tell the kid's pupils were dilated and he understood all too well the disoriented feeling the pain pills could produce. Maybe they should have given Dean some of Joshua's tea. "You're okay."

"The guy…" he croaked, his voice still strained and raspy and way too painful sounding.

"Is gone." Caleb cut his thoughts off, squeezing his shoulder before letting him go. "I promise he won't get near you again."

Dean blinked, struggling to swallow past the burning rawness. The man had been strangling him. He could still feel his fingers around his throat, their crushing strength. "But…"

Caleb intercepted the kid's hand before he could touch his bruised neck. The psychic reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and offered it to Dean. "Here. Drink this."

He made sure Dean had a hold of the glass before he let it go. The twelve-year-old took a drink, winced as he forced it down, and then pushed it back towards Caleb. "It…hurts."

Reaves sighed, but took the cup back with a frown. "Do I need to get Mac?" He made to stand up but Dean grabbed hold of him, a haunted look of terror returning to his glassy green eyes.

"No! Don't leave me."

"Hey." The psychic slowly sat back down. "Deuce, chill." He pried the boy's fingers from around his wrist but kept a grasp on the cold hand. "You're safe." Caleb wasn't used to this reaction from the twelve-year-old. There had only been a few times before when Dean had ever been so clingy, and those situations had been extreme. All of those times had left Caleb feeling helpless, powerless and more than a little humbled by it all. Now was no different, except he was more determined than ever to fix it.

"Sammy?"

The question caught him off guard, and for a moment he was worried Dean was asking where his brother was. "Dean, Sammy's not here."

"I know." The boy swallowed again, pain registering on his pale, sweat-slicked face. "I…mean is he safe?"

"Of course," Caleb answered without hesitation.

"That guy…"

"Is not going after Sammy." Reaves didn't know how, but he was sure of that. Dean had been the target. "I would know," he added, with a tap of his own forehead when the boy looked up at him with doubt in his watery gaze.

"But you didn't know…it was after me?"

It wasn't said with any hint of accusation or malice, but it still sent a stab of guilt lancing through Caleb's gut. He pushed it aside, understanding Dean's need to assure himself of his kid brother's safety. In fact, the psychic had worried about the same thing. "I…" He shook his head, trying to explain what he could understand now in hindsight. "I think I did know, Deuce. I just didn't want to know it."

The kid frowned. "I don't get it."

Reaves smiled, shakily. "Me either. You know how when you have a really bad dream about something that scares you more than you want to admit, and you wake up terrified, but you can't remember what you've been dreaming of…only that it was really, really bad."

Dean nodded, his unblinking gaze not leaving Caleb's solemn face. "Yeah. Sometimes…I think I dream about my mom dying."

Caleb nodded. He couldn't recall one single nightmare about his parent's death in clarity, but he knew he had had hundreds of them. "This was kind of the same thing. I'm sorry. I should have known before you got hurt. You have to believe me. I would have done anything to stop that."

"It's…not your fault," Dean told him. "You saved me."

"Barely."

The kid's mouth twitched. "So, losing me scares you, Damien?"

Reaves rolled his eyes, secretly thankful the boy knew exactly when to pull out the inappropriate humor. "Telling Sammy that Belac fell down on the whole watching Athewm's scaly ass scares me."

"Sure." Dean shivered again. "Sammy's really scary."

Caleb took him by the shoulders, gently pushing him back down on the bed. He pulled the covers up over Dean's chest. "Wait until he's bigger than either one of us, and tell me that."

The kid yawned, feeling the tug of the drugs calling him back to oblivion. "Where's WooBee?"

"Josh brought it in with your backpack." Caleb slid his hand over the boy's hair. "You want it?"

Dean nodded.

Reaves retrieved the much loved stuffed toy. He sat on the bed and placed WooBee on Dean's pillow. "Try to get some more sleep without the dreams this time."

Dean nodded, his eyes drifting closed. "Stay…okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." Dean forced his eyes open again, glancing up at Reaves. "Because…losing anybody else scares me too."

Caleb winked at him. "We're both a couple of pansies."

"Yeah." Dean grinned back, his eyes closing again. "Holding my hand… like some kind of girl."

Caleb shook his head. "Goodnight, Deana."

"'night, Reava."

It was a moment before the kid's breath evened out, and only then did the psychic remove his touch and move back to his chair. He'd no sooner got there when the bedroom door squeaked and Caleb looked up to find John leaning in the doorway. "He okay?"

Reaves frowned, wondering how long the older hunter had been standing there. He had a feeling it had been Dean's scream that brought his father and that meant Winchester had been outside the door the whole time. His abilities were still too whacked to alert him to such things. It bothered him to think anyone could be lurking about and he would not sense it.

"Caleb?" John inquired, quietly stepping into the room where the small night light illuminated his weary features.

"He's fine," Reaves finally answered, his eyes unconsciously going back to Dean's sleeping form. "Nightmare."

John moved towards them. He lifted the Three Musketeers book and sketch pad from the seat of the chair Mac had pulled close to the bed when he was examining Dean and sat down. "I kind of figured that much out from the whole shouting thing. At first I thought it was Sammy." He met the psychic's gaze with a hint of a sheepish grin. "I'm so damn use to Dean handling those things."

Caleb nodded. "I should have woken him up…but I was hoping to get a look at the man…find something that I might have missed."

Winchester frowned, not understanding what the younger hunter was apologizing for. "I don't understand."

Reaves lifted his hand, waggled it. "I was watching, and didn't pull out in time."

John leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Did you see him?"

Caleb was almost surprised John didn't reprimand him for failing to protect Dean from the killer for a second time that night. "No. He was wearing that fucking mask the entire time. That's why I didn't see him in the other visions."

"Anything else unusual about him?"

"No." The psychic pointed to the sketch pad where he had drawn the emblem. "But I did get a better look at the ring. It's definitely a cross with letters in the four corners."

John looked down at the paper he was holding and studied it. "This is good, Kid. We can get Bobby and Joshua on it first thing in the morning."

"You think it might help?"

"It's more than we had before and if Mackland can get a reading on the mask, then maybe we'll get lucky." John handed the sketch pad back to the younger hunter and nodded to the book he still held in his hand. "Three Musketeers? You're really trying to fill his head with more ideals, aren't you?"

Caleb shrugged. "Mac use to read it to me." He remembered the first time the doctor had brought it with him to the institution where Caleb was being held for assessment. "It always made me feel safe."

John's brow furrowed, slightly surprised the younger man had revealed that last part. "Mackland's a good father."

Now it was Reaves's turn to be surprised. "Yeah." Caleb swallowed thickly, held the other man's gaze. "You aren't so bad yourself."

John laughed, giving his head a shake. "Oh, Kiddo, you suck at lying to me." He didn't give Caleb a chance to object. "I'm good at a lot of things, but not that."

"That's not true. You love them." John was a good father in his own way. He tried his best and was as dedicated as Mac only differently. "I know you'd do anything to protect them-to keep them safe." _Even let them be taken by a greedy, self-centered bastard like Charles Conner. _

"That's only part of being a good parent, Caleb." John exhaled, heavily. "Besides, I thought you were just chewing me out this morning for sucking at the job."

Reaves snorted. "What the hell do I know, Johnny? I'm twenty. Mac wouldn't even let me have a dog when I was kid."

John grinned. "That's because your daddy is a neat freak, not because he didn't think you could handle taking care of something. Hell, I let you take care of Dean and Sam all the time."

"But you've already pointed out that you're not the most responsible parent in the world."

John laughed again, and Dean stirred slightly in his sleep. Caleb reached out, touched his arm, and the kid quieted.

"But that was one of the things I did right."

Caleb glanced up at him, not sure how to take the rare praise. "Didn't you just chew me out for sucking at the job a little while ago?"

"You should have called me as soon as you knew he was missing."

"But…"

John held up a hand to cut him off. "But you didn't want him to get in trouble. I get that. But he can't go running off by himself, Caleb. Look where it got him."

"I know I screwed up."

"And I screwed up." Winchester placed a hand on the back of his neck. "We're both still learning. But between Jim and your Dad, we'll get straightened out sooner or later."

Caleb snorted. "Or drive them insane in the meantime."

"Either way, it should be interesting." John patted Caleb's leg, leaving the psychic still sitting on the bed.

"Never do have to worry about being bored, that's for sure." Reaves yawned, watching John go before letting his gaze travel back to Dean. The kid looked peaceful but Caleb decided to stay another minute just to make sure no more dreams came. He wouldn't fail him again. He wouldn't fail any of them.

RcJnsnsnsnsnssnsnsnsnsnssnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

A?N : Thanks to Tidia for the Beta Work and for remembering WooBee.


	6. Chapter 6

**_a/n: _**I want to take a moment to thank all reviewers. I tried to reach each one of you personally and hope I did make some kind of contact with each and everyone. It was my Saturday mission. So, if I did miss you, I'm truly sorry. This part of the story is leading us to that big summit in the distance I hope, and I think that although it isn't my favorite, there are some important things going on both Brotherhood wise and character building wise. Tidia had to keep me from being too dark and I found myself even feeling a little on edge with some of this. She also convinced me to break this humongous part into two chapters. So chapter seven is done and should be up this weekend. Thanks for the great work, Tidia. It is not graphic in any way, just unsettling as the scary side of life can sometimes be. The quote I found has nothing to do with dragons or the phoenix, but somehow it spoke to me, and seemed to sum up the greatest of human fears. It also seemed thematic for Dean and also Caleb, as well as the rest of the boys. I hope you enjoy. -Ridley

Please note the message at the end of this story also. Thanks.

**RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsRcJ**

"**_It is a fearful thing to love what Death can touch." -Author unknown_**

Jim Murphy had finished carefully stirring the second scoop of flour into his secret pancake batter when the phone interrupted his humming rendition of Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A Changin'. It was seven in the morning and most of the house was still asleep, although he had heard John and Mackland moving about some time ago. Still, Murphy tried to move quietly and quickly to retrieve the ringing phone before the boys were disturbed.

He maneuvered around Atticus and Scout who were perched at their usual food pandering spots by the counter and grabbed the offending object before the third ring. "Hello."

_"Hi Pastor Jim!"_

"Samuel, my boy." Jim smiled, holding the handset slightly away from his ear. Sam still liked to speak loudly when communicating via the phone. "We've missed you."

_"I missed you too! Can I talk to Dean? I had a bad dream about him. Mr. Conner says I can only talk for five minutes."_

It was all said quickly, breathlessly, the sentences blurring together, but Jim caught the most important part. "He's sleeping, but I'll wake him."

John chose that moment to stumble into the kitchen, heading blearily for the coffee pot. Jim reached out and snagged his sleeve. "In the meantime there is someone else who wants to talk to you."

Winchester frowned at that, his gaze going longingly towards the rich dark brew. "Jim…"

"It's Sam," the pastor told him and watched the fog clear instantly from the dark eyes of the younger man.

John took the phone, a rare smile lighting his face and erasing some of the harsh lines caused from the sleepless night. "Sammy."

"_Hey, Daddy!"_

Winchester winced at the loud greeting, but his smile held. It was so good to hear his boy's voice. "What's going on, Sport? Why are you up and about so early?" Sam usually slept in, his older brother being the one who would rise with the roosters.

"_I was thinking about Dean. I had a bad dream about him. Is he okay?" _

John sent a quick glance in Jim's direction, who pretended not to notice the 'what do I tell him' look. It was obvious the man was leaving him to fend for himself.

Murphy went to the other side of the kitchen and picked up the portable phone. He carried it upstairs, going into Dean's room and finding the boy and Caleb asleep with WooBee in the middle keeping watch.

The twelve-year-old was buried in a mound of blankets, his face towards the wall.

Reaves's lanky body was hanging half off the other side in a manner that could not have done his injured ribs any good. The one-eyed bear was perched carefully on the pillow in between. It brought a rush of warmth to Jim, like the morning sunlight streaming through the one lone window. The pastor smiled as he made his way towards them. It was the small things that sometimes made the insurmountable seem conquerable.

The pastor placed a hand on Reaves's shoulder, and was surprised when he had to give the boy a gentle shake to rouse him. Exhaustion was starting to take its toll on all of them.

"Wha…Jim?"

"It's morning."

Caleb blinked up at Murphy, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I just closed my eyes. What time is it?"

"A little after seven. Samuel is on the phone."

The name worked better than any alarm clock and Dean began to stir. "Sammy?" He asked hoarsely, shoving the blankets away. He struggled to sit up, his unfocused gaze zeroing in on the phone in Jim's hand. "Is…he okay?"

Dean's voice was rough,but both Jim and Caleb's eyes were drawn to the vivid purple and blue marks marring Dean's neck. They stood out starkly against his pale skin as did the dark bruise on his cheek.

The pastor cleared his throat. "He wants to speak with you, my boy. Are you up to it?"

"I'm good." The grating tone, like that of sand paper being scrubbed together, said differently. Murphy forced another smile and turned on the phone. "Your father's speaking to him on the other line."

The twelve-year-old took the phone with his uninjured arm and quickly brought it to his ear, cradling it with his shoulder. "Sammy? Yeah. I got it now, Dad."

Dean heard his father tell Sam goodbye and that he would talk to him soon then his brother's booming voice greeted him.

"_Hey, Dean!"_

Reaves shook his head when he clearly heard the younger boy's excited most definite 'outside' voice, which he often used as his 'phone and radio' tone too. Dean was explaining away his sore throat, reassuring his little brother he had just woken up. "I need coffee," the psychic said. It was too early for 'Samsational' dialogue.

He gave Dean another concerned once over before swinging his jean-clad legs the rest of the way off the bed. Caleb winced as he sat up and found Jim favoring him with a worried look. "Caffeine will make me all better, Jim. I swear." He tossed another look in Dean's direction. "Yell for me before you let him go. I want to talk to him."

"He's fine too." Dean said into the phone, nodding at Reaves's request. "He's right here. You can talk to him in a minute."

Before Caleb could make it off the bed Dean huffed in frustration and caught his sleeve.

The phone was thrust towards him.

"What?" he asked as the younger boy covered the mouth piece and pushed for him to take the headset.

"He wants to talk to you now," Dean rasped in a whisper. "Don't tell him anything."

Sammy wasn't buying the 'I'm fine' routine. Caleb rolled his eyes. "Glad you told me it was a secret, Deuce. I would have given him the whole spiel about the serial killer who almost strangled his big brother to death."

"I'll leave you two boys to take care of this little situation." Jim wanted to stay and see what lie Reaves's created. He was always amazed at the elaborateness of the stories the hunter's created, not realizing simple was always best. Jim decided to start back towards the stairs. "Breakfast will be ready shortly, complete with caffeine."

"Hey, Runt." Reaves kept his gaze on Dean, watching the boy pick at the clip holding the ace bandage around his wrist.

"_Hi, Caleb."_

"I thought we were going to talk to you last night."

The psychic heard the youngest Winchester sigh heavily and his lip twitched as he imagined the look on the kid's face. It would be the same one of frustrations and consternation he always got when they were forced to wait in line at McDonald's or when he was trying to explain something that no one else was quite grasping.

"_Mr. Conner wouldn't let me. He said it was impolite to make calls so late. So I got him up **extra** early." _

Reaves laughed. "I'm sure he appreciated that." It did Caleb good to think about the business magnate being tortured by a whining Sam. Served him right. He hoped Sammy gave him hell every day.

"_Are you and Dean okay? I had another dream." _

"What kind of dream?" Dean punched his leg and Caleb gave him a scowl. "Good or bad?" he asked the youngest Winchester.

"_It was scary."_

"A dream about me and Dean? That doesn't sound too bad, kiddo." Dean made a rolling motion with his hand for him to wrap it up. Reaves ignored it Caleb didn't think there was any harm in finding out what Sam had seen especially if it was possibly linked to last night. "Were you with us?"

"_No. A monster was with you." _

That sounded about right. "What kind of monster?"

"_I don't know. But he hurt you and ran away with Dean." _

Caleb sighed when he recognized the slight tremble of fear in the child's voice. Not much scared the seven-year-old and he hated that the boy was so far away from the one person that could make him feel completely safe. The psychic glanced at Dean. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, Sammy. I'll watch out for your brother. I promise."

"_Why does Dean sound funny? Does he have a cold?" _

The boy was damn sharp. Reaves pinched at the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of what promised to be a hell of a headache. "I think his voice is changing. Now, not only will he _look_ like a girl, he'll probably sound like a girl for the next few weeks."

Another punch and a grab for the phone had Caleb standing up out of Dean's reach. "Listen, Sammy, I'm going to give you back to him, but you do most of the talking okay. Let Deana rest her voice."

The little boy's giggle was as welcome as the cocky smirk and go to hell look Dean shot him. "I'll talk to you soon."

Dean didn't hear what his brother was saying on the other line, but Caleb gave his clipped "Ditto, Runt," which was his usual way of replying when Sam turned on the whole love fest. Sometimes watching Sam lavish affection on the older hunter was hilarious. His brother had no hang-ups about telling the people he cared for exactly how he felt. Dean wasn't sure when he had stopped expressing his feelings with words, had never known a time when Reaves did, and he wondered if the same affliction would someday effect Sam. He hoped not.

Dean took the phone back from the psychic, and his brother began to ramble on about nothing. Dean was glad Caleb had left the room. He wasn't able to keep it together as Sam asked him when they would be together again.

He sucked in a hitching breath. "I'm not sure, Sammy."

"_I don't like it here. I want to come home now. I miss you." _

The happiness had been leached from his brother's voice, the excitement of talking with his family now gone. Dean tried to redirect, take his mind off of the hurt, like he did when Sam had a physical pain. "Is Mr. Conner treating you okay? How's the nanny?"

"_Manuela is nice. She reads with me, but Mr. Conner is grumpy." _

"Just hang in there, kiddo."

Sam said something into the phone, but his voice was so low Dean couldn't hear what he said. "What? Why are you whispering?"

"_I said I could runaway and come to the farm. I can take a bus, like we do sometimes in the city, like you did when you ran away to Caleb's school. I saw the station coming in." _

"No!" Dean snapped, a sharp twinge vibrating his raw throat. He knew all too well what that could lead to. "That's not safe, Sam. Promise me you won't do anything like that."

When the boy said nothing, Dean tightened his grip on the phone. "Super swear, Sam. Now!"

"_But we can't lock pinkies…" _

"No buts. Swear it."

"_I swear." _

"Good. Let Dad handle this okay."

"_But Mr. Conner says we're leaving soon. He says we're going to live in some lady's vineyard."_

"What?"

"_Some lady named Martha." _

Dean didn't know exactly what his brother was referring to, but he could hear tears in Sam's voice. The idea of his little brother leaving definitely resonated. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out. I promise."

"_Do you still love me, Dean?" _

Dean's throat began to burn, his eyes stinging once more. "Of course I do, Sammy. Why would you ask that?"

"_Mr. Conner says we're not brothers anymore. He says I won't be a Winchester for very much longer. I'm getting mommy's old name." _

"That won't happen, Sam. I don't care what anyone says. No matter what your name is, you're still my brother. Dad is still your dad." Dean had tried to make his brother feel safe with Conner, but now he was beginning to think it had been the wrong way to go. He wasn't sure what he expected, maybe to wake up and it all to be a bad dream.

"_The dragons will save me before it's too late. Right?" _

God, Dean hoped so. But if the heroes he had grown up believing in couldn't stop a human killer then how were they going to stop Conner from running away with Sam for good. Maybe dragon magic only worked in the world of the supernatural.

Maybe his grandfather had been right when he said the two worlds were completely different. In this new world, Dean felt helpless and hopeless. But he refused to share this new information with his brother. "Of course they will, Sammy."

"_I have to go." _

The older Winchester heard Conner's voice in the background. "Okay, little brother. Remember your promise. No leaving the hotel. Got it?"

"_Okay. I love you, Dean." _

The click was loud and ominous in his ear. He blinked, feeling the warmth of the tears on his cheek. WooBee was staring at him sympathetically. "I love you too, Sammy."

When Dean came downstairs everyone else was at the breakfast table. He took the empty seat next to Reaves, offering Jim a faint smile as the man placed a glass of milk in front of him.

"One more day of resting for you both," Mac said, pointing a fork at Caleb and Dean. "I'm expecting nothing more strenuous than a game of cards, or channel surfing."

Caleb shot Dean a conspiratorial look. "I think a second opinion is called for. How about you, Deuce?"

The boy shrugged, playing along. "Never hurts."

Caleb turned to the blond hunter on the other side of him, who was hidden behind the business section of Jim's paper. "So-do you agree Josh? Or can that brew of yours have us on the healthy list any sooner?"

Sawyer peered around the print. "It has been known…"

Mackland reached out and snatched the newspaper so that Joshua had no where to hide. "As long as I'm the only one with letters after my name, there will be no consultations or collaborations of treatment in this regiment."

"Does that mean I can't have some of Josh's magic tea?"

Caleb laughed at the look his father shot Dean, but quickly shoveled a forkful of Jim's pancakes in his mouth when Mac turned his accusing gaze on him.

"I don't like the pills either." Dean said seriously, shoving his own food around on his plate. He really wasn't sure his throat could handle anything solid.

"You'll take what Mackland tells you to take, Ace," John said, taking a drink of his coffee. "It's not up for debate."

"But Caleb…"

"Is not twelve." John gave his son a look that had him turning his eyes back to his plate.

Reaves cleared his throat. "So, Dad, did you get anything from the mask?"

"Yeah, you were feeling that thing up with all the care and concentration of your first fu…" Bobby's observation was cut off by a grunt when Jim kicked him under the table. He shot the pastor a hurt look. "What?"

"I think I got a pretty good reading." Mac said, evasively, his eyes going to Dean.

"Perhaps we should…"

Dean shoved away from the table, interrupting Ames. Everyone was looking at him. "I get it! I'm twelve!" He snapped, picking up on the doctor's intent, standing abruptly to leave the room. His hand went to his throat as the anger caused it to flame. "Whatever." He was sick of all of them.

"Dean!" John reached out to stop him, grabbing his bandaged arm by mistake. The kid yelped and Reaves slammed his fork down on his plate.

"That's enough." Jim said sharply, bringing everyone's gaze to him. "Johnathan, let the boy go. Dean, sit back down." He narrowed his eyes on Caleb. "And that's Emma's good China you're banging around."

"Sorry, sir," Reaves said contritely, ducking his head slightly.

Dean nodded his apology miserably as he sank back in his chair, sharing a quick look with Caleb.

John exhaled, heavily. "Apologize to Mackland, Dean." He knew Dean was hurt. Talking to Sam had obviously not cheered him up any, but he wouldn't allow the boy to disrespect his elders, especially Ames.

"That's not necessary." Mac raked a hand through his hair, feeling physically frazzled by the sudden tension in the room. "Let's just all start over."

"Not all of us were being obnoxious brats," Joshua pointed out, but by the look on his face it was obvious he hadn't intended to actually speak the statement out loud.

"If we want commentary from the chauffeur, we'll beat it out of you." Bobby grunted still pouting over his smarting shin. "I for one would like to finish my damn breakfast."

"That sounds like an excellent idea." Jim agreed. "Then we will discuss Mackland's findings." He looked pointedly at Ames and then to Dean. "All of us. We are in this together, after all. What is it the Musketeers say?"

Dean's mouth twitched as Caleb quickly supplied the creed. "All for one and one for all." He could be almost as much of a dork as Sam. _Sammy. _His heart still ached from the conversation with his brother, all the emotions too close to the surface.

"You should have team shirts made." Joshua smirked from safely behind his paper once more.

"Shut up." Caleb growled.

Jim sighed, casting a quick glance heavenward. He wondered briefly if Emma was getting a good laugh at his expense. After all, Jim was the one who longed for a household full of children. "Eat your breakfast, boys, before it gets cold."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsRcJ

They had moved into the library, which allowed them access to the hidden room behind the movable book shelves. The secret alcove often served as a planning room. It was decorated in similar fashion as the library, painted in warm colors and furnished with large comfortable chairs and a large round oak table.

But instead of the shelves of classic novels, there were books on everything supernatural from A to Z. There was also a smaller section of personal journals from hunters long past. If it had ever been sighted or hunted, one could find reference to it in this room Caleb had affectionately named 'The Hunters Tomb.'

There were enough topical and geographical maps of the United States and bordering countries to make any geography teacher green with envy. A state of the art communication center graced one wall, complete with widescreen television, a shortwave radio and police scanners.

Intricate paintings of knights and mythical creatures along with a seaside landscape adorned the walls, as well as an oddly chosen oil portrait of Abraham Lincoln. Bobby had once told the boys the former president had been a member of The Brotherhood. Jim denied it, but Singer insisted it was true.

To complete the Hunter's hideaway, weapons of every nature were housed in a false closet. Jim also had a locked bullet proof display of antiquities of reputable power.

Once everyone was seated at the round table, Mackland took center stage.

He had brought a notepad with his unintelligible scribbling lining the front. Mac peered at it a moment before starting.

"As you know, we've figured out that the thing behind the recent disappearance and subsequent murders of the young children is not a thing at all, but a human."

"That's using the term loosely," Bobby pointed out and Mackland gave the mechanic a quick exasperated glance to let him know he should follow his own advice about the contribution of commentary.

"From what I can tell," Ames continued. "The man is highly disturbed as his actions very well indicate. I got the impression that he has not been doing this for long. That leads me to believe that he is fairly young. If we assume he is a typical serial killer, it is likely he has been building up to these acts. He could have started by harming animals, other children when he was younger, and is just now moving onto what he truly craves."

"So, he's just getting started?" John leaned back in his chair. "You still think he will come after Dean again?"

Caleb didn't miss the way the boy next to him tensed, how his eyes shifted from the table to Ames. Dean was going to read the doctor's face for any sign of deception. "I do."

Reaves bit his lip, trying to fight the irrational fear that confession caused. Dean was safe where he was. No one could breach their sanctuary. Of course the aching absence of Sam taunted that wasn't exactly true. "What makes you so sure, Dad?"

"He picked Dean for a reason. I get a strong reading of purpose, a plan. He's not killing out of randomness. There's something he's seeking."

"Like any predator." Joshua interjected. "Some animals will stalk their prey for hundreds of miles once they have targeted them."

"Thank you, Mr. Wild Kingdom." Caleb glared at the blond hunter. "But I'd really like to hear from the man with the letters after his name."

"He's right. This man's desires, whatever they may be, are almost intrinsic. It's like his very life depends on fulfilling his plan. "

"And you're sure he's not possessed, or some kind of monster?"

Mackland shook his head at Bobby's question. "I truly don't get that feeling. This is a person. A very sick and twisted individual, but a human nonetheless."

"Which is not something we are use to dealing with." Jim scratched at his chin. "Of course the rare occasion has arisen where humans have been involved in supernatural hunts, but we have contacts with the appropriate authorities to deal with that."

"But this involves one of our own," Caleb was quick to point out. "We have to act."

"So did the thing with Sammy," Dean added, a slight hint of anger coating his scratchy words as he looked at the men gathered around the table. The whole thing with his grandfather had definitely involved one of their own and the Brotherhood had chosen not to act.

John exhaled heavily. "We have not fed your brother to the wolves, Ace. I miss him, too, damn it. We all do. He's fine. He's living it up in a penthouse suite. He's protected."

"He's not here."

"But you are, my boy." Jim met Dean's challenging gaze. "You are at the center of this storm, and we must deal with it before you or any other innocent child is harmed. I swear I have not forsaken Samuel."

Dean slumped back in his chair, his lips pressing tightly together. Mac gave him a sympathetic look but continued on. "What worries me most, to borrow Joshua's analogy is that now our predator is going to behave like a wounded, starved animal. He will more than likely be unpredictable and feel even more desperate to get what he wants."

"Meaning he's a hell of a lot more dangerous." John glanced down at his opened journal.

"We had the boys disappearing at monthly intervals, then weekly. You think he's going to kick it up another notch?"

"He's spiraling quickly. Whatever is driving him is becoming more insistent and his pathology is worsening."

Jim pointed to the mask, lying ominously in the center of the table. "Did you pick up any images of where he might be, Mackland? Like you do when you are searching for victims?"

"Some." Mac shook his head. "I saw a building, like a warehouse. It wasn't abandoned, but well-kept. Then there were the propellers?"

"Propellers?" Bobby's mouth twitched. "Like the pasty kind?"

"And I wonder where my son gets his lascivious view of intimacy." The doctor sighed.

"I was speaking of the aviation sort. I believe there were planes."

"A hangar?" Caleb asked. "Like in a private air strip?"

"Perhaps."

Jim stood going to the wall of maps where he pulled down one of New Haven and the surrounding areas. "The closest landing strip that I know of is in St. Spears, which is just on the outskirt of Cookeville. There is another in Morristown."

"There are also private holding spaces at the larger international airports," Joshua added. "I have associates that choose to provide their own transportation instead of relying on public means."

"If he's taking the bodies there to…" Caleb found himself brought up short as he thought of what the bastard did to the boys, unwilling to say the unthinkable in front of Dean. "To perform his sick ritual, then he's going to want privacy."

"I agree." John nodded. "Mackland and I could check out the strips on the outskirts, work our way to Louisville."

"What should me and Slick do?" Bobby jerked his chin towards Sawyer, who seemed resigned to his fate as the grizzled hunter's sidekick.

"I want you to take that sketch that Junior did of the ring." John motioned towards Caleb's sketch pad. "See what you can dig up now that it's clear."

"And what if those two avenues turn up nothing?" Jim challenged being what the boys liked to call 'the professor'. "Have you two come up with a back up plan? I want this man off the streets."

The Scholar and Knight shared a look. "We thought we could set a trap." Actually it had been John's idea, but as much as Ames didn't like the particulars he had to agree it might be their only alternative.

"A trap?" Jim frowned. "Lure the animal into a cage."

"Exactly." John nodded. It was a good strategy. Offensive maneuvers were more John's style. He was sick of being caught with his pants around his fucking ankles. "Bring the bastard to us, on our terms and then take him down."

"But what the hell are you going to use as bait?" Bobby asked. "Sick fucker ain't going to wander up on the porch like a possum out for a stroll."

Again Scholar and Knight shared a silent communication and Mackland glanced to the twelve-year-old. "We were hoping Dean could help us with that."

"What?" Caleb demanded feeling as if his father had delivered a hard right hook. He fired a disbelieving look to Ames and then to Winchester. "You're joking, right?"

"I don't know if that is such a good idea," Jim said quietly, studying the other members of

The Triad with the same intensity as Caleb, but without the judgment. "I would prefer not to take such a risk."

"He wouldn't be in any danger, Jim." John glanced to his son, who was sitting up straighter now, watching the exchange. "We would be there the entire time."

"And we would only do it if our other ideas do not develop to fruition. It would be a last resort."

"Are you kidding me?" Reaves noticed his father was purposefully avoiding his eyes.

"What are you going to do? Set him out in a dark, deserted park and hope to attract the right killer. Isn't that a little like tossing a bloodied fish into the ocean and hoping the right shark will swallow it?"

"We have a plan, kid," John snapped, falling back on his usual impatience at having his orders questioned. "We'll set it up like his last trip into the city. Have Dean retrace his steps in going to see Sam. The man obvious tracked him there. We just want him to do exactly what he did last night."

"You want him to what?" Caleb could not believe what Winchester was suggesting. "You practically tore both our heads off for that little stunt. Now you're going to encourage him to do it?" He turned on his father. "Is this some kind of reverse psychology shit?"

"Damn it, Caleb. It might be the only way." John replied before Ames. "It won't be the first time one of us has been bait."

"One of _us_!" Reaves snapped. "Adults. Grown-ups." He pointed to his ring. "Members of The Brotherhood. Not him."

"You want to point out my age too?" Dean turned a traitorous gaze on the psychic, finally speaking up. "I'm sitting right here and I'm not a baby!" His voice cracked at the end, not being able to keep up with the heated exchange.

"You're also not a carrot to dangle in front of some sick freak." Caleb growled. "You really want to give him another chance at you, Deuce?" He shook his head. "Because I got the impression last night that was the last thing you wanted."

"I don't want anyone else to get hurt." Dean was tired of feeling helpless, of watching things spiral out of control. And if he got to see his brother then that was a bonus.

Caleb wasn't sure if that was code for Dean didn't want Sam to get hurt or he didn't want to disappoint his father and the other older hunters. There was also the idea Dean just didn't give a shit since his brother was gone. No matter the reasoning, it wasn't going to fly. "And I don't want you to get hurt, goddamnit!" Was everyone willing to overlook that possibility? "This isn't right and you know it." His accusing gaze went to John. "You already sacrificed Sam. You willing to do it again?"

"I didn't sacrifice Sam!" John yelled. "I had no choice but to let him go with Conner, and trust me that battle is far from over."

"It's my choice," Dean spoke up, stronger this time. "I want to get this guy. I might not have a ring, but I'm still a hunter. I've helped Dad lots of times." His voice faded in and out on some of the hard consonants of certain words.

Caleb looked at him for a long moment, neither of them saying anything. Then Reaves blinked, his voice softening. "Would you want Sam to do this?"

The mortified stare was all the answer the psychic needed. "That's what I thought."

"It's not the same." Dean stubbornly refused to acknowledge he might need protecting.

"Fine. Do whatever the hell you want, Dean. But I won't be around to watch." Caleb started for the door, the little voice in his head niggling at him that he was being childish. He felt the boy's fear, knowing the twelve-year-old didn't want him to go. His instincts screamed for him to stop, but he continued on. It served the little shit right. Turnabout was fair play.

"Where are you going?" Mackland asked, wearily.

Caleb kept on going. "Out." He slammed the door behind him.

"He won't go far." Mac told Dean, seeing the slight deer in the headlight look. Sometimes Caleb didn't realize just how close he was following in John's shadow.

"How do you know?"

Ames smiled, reassuringly. "Because you're still here, and despite what he said he won't let you out of his sight for long, especially now."

**RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ**

**I know we all want to be confident and believe our favorite show will be back next season, but in favor of erring on the side of caution let's all take a moment to do our part. I know there is a wonderful petition going around as well as some other things but Tidia and I thought of a fun idea. How about a 'Road Trip' style of Saving our Supernatural. Send a postcard from your hometown and heck, neighboring hometowns, too. Write a brief message: "You have fans here!" **

**It seems the perfect tribute to our boys, who roll into towns allover our beautiful country each week. And if you have something unique in your town, like the biggest ball of twine or largest meteor crater then that's even better. I challenge everyone to do at least two. The addresses are below. Hey if you want, send an extra one to Kripke or the boys just to say how much they are appreciated. **

Dawn Ostroff (Yes, she is still in charge)  
CW  
11800, Wilshire Blvd.  
Los Angeles, CA 90025

And Kripke's addy:**  
**(remember US residents will need an airmail stamp or two 39 cents stamps)

Supernatural Films Inc  
8085 Glenwood Dr.  
Burnaby BC  
V3N 5C8  
Canada


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A/N: A big thank you to **reviewers**: I am always touched by those who take time out of their busy schedules to offer advice and opinions, as well as such humbling, kind and flattering words. Thank you! Thanks also to SomeoneElsesDream for sending me this great quote that went so well with this part! It made my Saturday. Also, Tidia deserves a big round of applause for the beta work on this and adding some much needed transitions, as well as helping me with two upcoming stories. She's awesome. Happy reading everyone.

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsRcJ

**"Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed." -G. K. Chesterton**

Caleb opened the kitchen door, noticing the dim light. The hunters had already had dinner. He hadn't intended on being out so long, but a long drive, a walk and some thinking ate up the day.

"I kept some dinner in the oven for you." Pastor Jim stated, as he entered the kitchen from the library. "Why don't you wash up?"

Reaves gave the minister an appreciating nod. He was hungry; sulking had given him an appetite. He wanted to check in on Dean first. Caleb checked the boy's bedroom, but the twelve-year-old wasn't there. Tenderly, the psychic used his abilities, but came up with nothing except a worried feeling. He raced downstairs again, his ribs acknowledging the punishment of each hard stair.

Jim with a potholder on his right hand was pulling out a plate from the oven.

"Where's Deuce?" Caleb said with a huff, glancing around the kitchen, readying to scour the house.

"What's wrong?" Jim placed the plate down, and put up his hand to stop the younger hunter.

"I can't sense him…I don't know if it's my abilities or what." Reaves rubbed a finger along his brow line.

Jim sighed with relief. He knew Dean's location. "He's at the pond."

Caleb was not easily dissuaded. Dean was a strong swimmer, but anything could happen. "I keep seeing water. Are you sure he's okay?"

Jim offered him a patient smile. "I'm sure. I saw him take the row boat out."

"What if…"

"Caleb, he's quite capable. He's been taking that boat out for some time now. I use to do the same as a boy on a lake nearby my childhood home. I think Dean and I share an affinity for water. Answers often lie just beneath the surface, you know."

Caleb walked over to the living room window. "I hate it."

Murphy followed, understanding that the younger man associated water with the tragedy that befell his family, as if living by it somehow drew the evil to them. It was also ironic considering Caleb's mother mostly painted seascapes. "It's impossible to control everything around you, my boy."

Reaves could barely make out the water in the distance. Sure enough, Atticus and Scout were sitting patiently at the bank, watching the tiny wooden boat float out in the middle of the tranquil pond.

Jim placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder, and prodded him back to the kitchen.

Caleb sat in front of the plate of chicken and rice, with the pastor taking a seat across from him. Reaves took a forkful of the rice and chewed in silence.

"You're angry with me?" Jim leaned his chin against his hand.

Caleb swallowed before answering, taking his time. "I don't understand why you're allowing this."

Jim had placed a pitcher of iced tea on the table and poured the younger hunter a glass to go with his meal. "If I didn't believe your father, John and Bobby so capable, I wouldn't. They will not let anything happen to him."

Caleb grimaced. He knew the older man didn't mean the affront, but it was a stinging insult to Reaves's ears. "Like Joshua and I did?"

"I didn't say that, nor was that what I meant." Murphy shook his head. He had to tread carefully with the young hunters and their tenacious feelings. "I trust you most of all with Dean's safety. I know you would do anything to protect him, or Sam. It's in your nature, and one of the reasons that I knew you were destined to be the next Knight. A great Knight."

Caleb toyed with his food for a moment, knowing he should eat more. There was a sinking sensation in his stomach that belied his hunger. "I hate to break it to you, Jim, but I don't feel the same about the other hunters as I do Dean and Sam. I know you're counting on me to have this ethereal connection to the members of The Brotherhood, but it's nothing like the need to keep Sam and Dean safe. Maybe I'm not the man for the job."

"What makes you say that?"

The psychic couldn't even explain the doubts to himself, let alone to Murphy, but he felt them eating at him just the same. The fear of not being there when Sam or Dean needed him was overwhelming sometimes. Like drowning. Again he thought of the water and had to use all his restraint not to abandon his dinner for a trip to the pond.

In the beginning he thought his protectiveness of the boys was because John had drilled it into his head so many times that he had to watch out for them, but that didn't encompass it either. He exhaled, heavily. "I'll do my duty, although I'm not quite sure what that is, but it won't be the same."

Jim smiled. "My boy, I don't expect it to be the same. That is entirely the point." He patted the oak table. "And it is not the time for you to know your duty. When it is, it will be as natural as breathing." Murphy gestured to the pond out beyond the windows. "You'll take to it like a duck does water."

Reaves frowned at the familiar enigmatic grin and the teasing simile. There was an elusive hint of something secretive lurking in the twinkling blue gaze. "But John doesn't seem to understand how it all works. He's been the Knight for a long time. He's not exactly passed anything down."

"I believe Johnathan has tried to offer you a great legacy. He's taught you to take care of yourself, to fight the good fight, and to protect what matters most of all." Jim sighed. "But of course there is a factor with John not being a typical Knight. Joshua was correct when he said that there was not much tradition in the current Triad, I'm afraid." It worried Jim that he and the others would not be enough to sufficiently prepare the next generation.

"I know that Knights are usually from hunting families, like Sawyer's. His father has pointed it out to me often enough." Caleb took another bite of chicken.

"True. But that is not the most important part." He reached out and squeezed Caleb's arm.

"And despite what Harland Sawyer thinks, you also are from a very reputable hunting family. Your adoptive father is a Scholar, your honorary grandfather a Guardian. Harland can be quite the…"

"Dick," Reaves supplied Bobby's favorite term for the other hunter, a slurring of his given name of Richard.

Jim's mouth twitched. "I was going to say traditionalist, set in his ways, a tad bit old fashioned."

The psychic snorted and pushed the plate away. "And of course you're more cutting edge and avant-garde."

"I was quite the rebel when I was in the field." Jim stood up, picked up the plate and brought it to the sink.

"Are you going to ever tell me the story of how you became The Guardian?"

"Someday." The older man turned on the faucet to wash the dish. "But now, I believe we both could use a walk by the water. John, Bobby and Mackland went to the local bar to unwind."

Caleb shook his head. "Who's watching out for whom in that bunch?"

"I asked Joshua to follow them." Jim retorted with a smile, remembering the boy's disgruntled protests.

They ambled their way to the pond, Jim pointing out the new roses on Emma's flowering bushes and the quickly growing ducklings that waddled their way around the far end of the pond, well out of reach of Scout. The pup had found a favorite past time in chasing the yellow downed babies, much to the horror of Elizabeth and her drake, Mr. Darcy. Dean heard the two hunters and rowed in, slowly as his wrist protested the strain.

Dean kept his head down as Caleb and Jim pulled the wooden boat up onto the shore.

"You okay?" Reaves stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, feeling he had wronged the boy.

"Yeah." Dean looked up. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Caleb replied, meaning he was sorry.

"I'm good too." Dean answered, signifying me too.

Reaves wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder and they walked up to the house together.

Jim took a moment, looked out to the pond and then followed behind his two charges for the evening. He smiled. The next generation would make them all proud.

Caleb and Dean called it an early night. Mackland had wanted them on bed rest, but both had done anything but followed the doctor's advice. The next day, the hunters went about their duties. Bobby and Joshua went to investigate the ring while Mackland and John investigated airports and landing strips.

Reaves had set himself up in The Hunter's Tomb. He and Dean had decided to build a bridge--figuratively and literally. It was usually a favorite past time with the youngest Winchester, so in a way it was almost as if he were in the room with them, too.

Caleb winced as another sharp pain lanced through his skull. This had been the third time since the day had started. He rubbed at his eyes with a frustrated growl.

"Alright?" Dean noticed the wincing.

"Yeah." The psychic picked up another piece of the bridge they were working on, glancing at Dean. "Just a headache."

Dean handed him the model glue. "You want some more of that tea?"

"You're offering to play nursemaid?"

The twelve-year-old rolled his eyes. "I just don't want to hear your crying."

"Right." Reaves connected the next beam, carefully removing his hand. "Has nothing to do with you wanting to make nice."

Dean sighed. "You want the fucking tea or not?"

Caleb glanced up. "Jim would wash your mouth out for that."

"You going to tell him?"

The psychic smiled. "Not if you fix me a sandwich with that tea."

"That's blackmail."

"Take it or leave it."

"Fine."

"And Deuce, don't even think about spitting in it, because I will so kick your ass."

The twelve-year-old grinned. "Would I do that to you?" Dean left the room before Reaves could offer up an answer. He made his way into the library and then down the hall towards the kitchen.

Dean had just stepped from the living room when he heard the knocking. Someone was at the back door. The Hunter's Tomb was insulated with reinforced walls and a steel door. It offered protection but also prevented external noise from entering. That explained them not hearing a car pulling in and without the dogs there was no internal alarm system.

He glanced over his shoulder, wondering if he should go back and get Caleb, but the idea of needing the older hunter to come and check things out for him had his pride bristling. Besides, it was probably Mrs. Olsen bringing over more frozen meals for Jim's visiting family. And even if it wasn't, Dean should at least have something to report back to Caleb.

Before he could completely make up his mind the knocking resumed again and Dean made his way to the door, peeking around the lace curtains. The porch light was on though it wasn't quite dark and Dean easily made out the tall man he had met at the penthouse the day before.

Thoughts of his younger brother propelled him to open the door. "Hey. Is Sam okay?"

Peter Marcus smiled. "Hey. No…I'm mean, yes, Sam is fine. I hope it's okay that I stopped by."

"Yeah, but…"

"Sam asked me to come."

Dean stepped back, his stance offering the invitation the business man was seeking.

"Dean." Caleb come through the living room, frowning as he entered the kitchen and caught site of the twelve-year-old standing at the door talking to a man Reaves didn't recognize. The psychic's headache had intensified, driving him to the kitchen to add a few aspirin to his order. "Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

"Chill, Damien." Dean rolled his eyes at the psychic who had now bounded into the room, halting Peter from making a move. He gestured for Marcus to come in. "This is Peter Marcus. He works for Conner."

Caleb continued to glare. "Not the best reference considering Charlie's last employees who visited here put me in the hospital."

"Ah." Peter smiled, finally accepting Dean's offer. "You met the pet apes. At the office we like to call them Zeus and Apollo." He winked at Dean. "Behind their backs of course."

Caleb stepped between Marcus and Dean. "What are you doing here? Did Conner send you?"

"Caleb, he said Sammy wanted him to come."

Reaves eyed the newcomer. "Is he okay?"

Peter sighed. "He was worried about his brother. He said he had some kind of nightmare last night, but his grandfather wouldn't let him call. In case you haven't noticed, Charles isn't the most compassionate of people. Too long working with blue-bloods and not enough with the warm-blooded population."

"So you freely do the bidding of a seven-year-old now?"

The man shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a lousy chess player. He played me for my services."

"Sounds like Sammy." Dean moved his gaze to Caleb, willing the man to back down. "Right, Caleb?"

Marcus frowned then, studying Dean more closely as the boy turned to look at Reaves. He whistled, gesturing to the impressive bruising on the kid's throat. " Wow. It looks like Sam's worry wasn't unfounded. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"And he's not your concern." Reaves was quick to interject. He didn't care if Dean was glaring at him or not. His headache wasn't letting up and he wasn't about to trust a stranger.

Caleb's phone chose that moment to ring. He lifted it to his ear and frowned as Dean motioned for Peter to join him in the kitchen.

"So, Sammy's okay?"

"Reaves," the psychic growled, taking his frustration out on the unknown caller as Dean and Peter continued their conversation.

"_I knew I recognized it."_ Joshua's voice came across the line. _"I should have recalled it instantly." _

"Sawyer?" Caleb sighed, moving towards the living room, but keeping his eye on Dean.

"_The symbol on the ring is a fraternity crest."_

Reaves frowned at the barely contained excitement. The other hunter had complained endlessly about the research, but now sounded almost smug about his find. "Fraternity as in 'frat' boy? Like the whole skull and crossbones thing that the boys from Yale like?"

"_Yes. A very elite fraternity found at your more prestigious Ivy League schools."_

"So you're telling me our killer is a socialite kegger?"

He heard the older hunter sigh in frustration. _"What I'm trying to tell you is my father had business associates in that fraternity. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if your own grandfather was not a member." _

Caleb had never seen Cullen Ames wear any such insignia. "Your point?"

"_My point is I had a hunch and followed up on it, which means you owe me, by the way. You'll never guess who belonged to that order while attending Harvard?" _

Caleb felt his heart quicken. "Who?"

"_Charles Conner."_

"What?" The psychic paced the floor. "That doesn't make sense. Conner was with us when Dean was attacked."

"_One of the advantages of belonging to such an organization is the contacts one makes. Generation after generation belongs to the same fraternal order. Business deals are forged years in advance, and as you know it is hard to say no to a member of one's brotherhood."_

"Damn." The pieces fell together quickly, now that the outline was all in place. "The man works for Charles."

"_I surmised the same thing. In fact, I researched a little into Mr. Conner's whereabouts over the last few months. While he was doing business in San Diego, two young boys disappeared."_

"Oh shit." Caleb's head whipped up, his eyes going towards the kitchen where he'd just left Dean and Peter Marcus. He moved towards the room, praying he was wrong. Reaves wasn't carrying a weapon. They were at the farm for Christ's sake. Jim had gone to the neighbor's one farm over.

"_Caleb?"_

Reaves heard Joshua, but the psychic didn't reply as he moved casually into the room.

Dean was standing near the sink. Marcus was leaning against the counter, smiling as he spoke to the boy. He lifted his hand to give Dean what Caleb instantly recognized as one of Sam's dragons. The psychic only prayed he hadn't come by it in any nefarious way.

"Your brother said to bring this to you." Peter offered the white dragon to Dean. "He said it was his favorite."

Caleb sensed more than saw Dean tense. His brother's favorite was Athewm, the green dragon. Always had been. "Thanks."

Reaves gaze was focused on the exchange, more importantly on Peter Marcus's right hand. The gold band sparkled brightly, and Caleb didn't even need to move any closer to know there would be a cross etched in the insignia, the fraternity letters emblazoned in the four

corners.

"Dean, your Uncle Joshua wants to know what you want him to bring you home for dinner?"

"_No I don't!"_

Reaves gestured to the phone just as Joshua must have picked up on Reaves's deliberate wording.

"_Uncle? Have you drank too much of that tea?" _

Dean met the older hunter's eyes. Caleb could tell by the mixture of fear and confusion the kid's sharp mind was also filling in the gaps. "That sushi he likes sounds good."

Caleb nodded approvingly. "Sushi," he spoke calmly into the phone. "Stop at Mac's too, and pick up some wine. You know the year John and Bobby like."

He didn't give Sawyer a chance to reply as he closed the phone, hoping Joshua had been around them enough to know Dean hated Sushi and Bobby would rather drink swill as wine.

"I see Sammy sent you a dragon?" Caleb forced himself to be calm as he surveyed the situation. Dean was in between him and Marcus. There was a shotgun stored behind the upright freezer in the corner.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Astorim, his favorite."

On a good day Caleb never would have doubted his ability to handle the man. But Peter was big and Reaves had no idea what he might have on him. Then there was the idea that Dean was standing in Peter's reach, could easily be caught in the crossfire. Removing the kid from the situation had to come first.

"Speaking of his favorites…" Caleb took a half step into the room, still straddling the doorway into the living room. "Dean, why don't you go upstairs and get that blanket he loves so much?" Reaves favored Marcus with a half grin. "I'm surprised Conner got him to go to bed without it."

Dean continued to hold Caleb's gaze as if he were walking a ledge and not trying to look down. "Right. I think it's in Pastor Jim's room."

Along with a small arsenal. Caleb shook his head. "No. I saw it in the library." Where the Tomb would keep Dean safe.

Reaves could see an argument building in Dean's green eyes. "Hurry up, Deuce. Mr. Marcus is probably anxious to leave."

"That won't be necessary," Peter said casually, but his tone grew colder. "I won't be going back to Conner's tonight."

"We'll give it to you just the same." Reaves jerked his chin for Dean to go up the stairs by the pantry. "You'll probably see him before we will."

Dean finally broke eye contact with the older hunter, turning to start for the stairs. He had taken only a step when the sharp retort of a gunshot stopped him in his tracks.

The kid whirled around in time to see Caleb stagger back, stumbling into the chair closest to the doorway. "No!"

Reaves made a desperate grab for the table struggling to stay upright, trying to get a grasp on what had just happened. As soon as Caleb had made a move forward the bastard had reacted, jerking the gun from his pocket.

"Sonofa…" The psychic's dazed gaze met Dean's for one instant, trying to convey what he couldn't voice. _Run, Deuce. _Reaves's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor, bringing a chair down with him.

The twelve-year-old felt frozen in place by the surreal sight. He was incapacitated by his own fear and disbelief at seeing the blood-blossomed across the front of the older hunter's Auburn shirt, staining the tiger. He heard Reaves's voice echo inside his head ordering him to escape. But when the psychic fell, he was propelled to help him. "Caleb!"

Peter caught Dean roughly by the arm as he tried to race by him to go to the downed hunter. He would have to take him out quickly because he couldn't afford another fight like the last time. As momentum swung the child around, Marcus brought the handgun down across the boy's temple. The twelve-year-old crumbled in his arms, unconscious.

He would have to hurry. Marcus was sure the other men hadn't gone far. Peter had done his research, dug through Conner's files. He was more prepared than those bumbling idiots Charles had hired. All of the men surrounding Dean and Sam Winchester were dangerous, deadly if given the chance. Peter had denied the youngest one, Caleb Reaves, any chance. It was messy, but effective.

With a satisfied snort, he tossed Dean over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and started for the door. Peter wouldn't be deprived of his prize for a second time. This night would be his rebirth.

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

The Pastor opened the door to the kitchen, shifting the aluminum foil covered trays to one hand. The neighbors took pity on the old widower and always filled him with food.

Jim heard the moan, and his gaze went instantly to where Caleb was struggling to push himself up from the floor.

"Caleb?" Murphy reached out and caught the unsteady boy, dumping his precarious load on the table. "What…" His words were cut off when his eyes registered the gory stain at the same time his hand come in contact with the sticky wetness of the psychic's shirt. "Oh my God. You're hurt."

"Jim…" Reaves ground out, trying to shake off the pastor's grip. "He took…Deuce."

"Who, Son?" Murphy kept hold of the younger hunter, as he tried to guide him to one of the kitchen chairs. "Who took Dean?"

"That bastard…I let him get the drop on us." Reaves tried to stand again, shoving Jim's hand away. "We have to go after him. I promised Sammy. I promised Deuce…"

"That can't be. How could…" Jim looked around, noticing the blood on the floor, the overturned chair. How could someone come into his home, assault and take one of their own. Of course, hadn't Charles Conner done the exact same thing by bringing his muscle to attack Caleb, and then his removal of Sam by underhanded treachery? Jim was failing at his job to protect them. His mentor Julian would be ashamed. The former Guardian had trusted Jim completely and he refused to let him down.

He pushed Caleb back into the chair, his voice hardening. "You're hurt, my boy. And they're gone. I didn't pass anyone on my way in so they must be headed for town. Let me take care of you and then we'll figure out our next move."

"No! Damn it!" Caleb continued to struggle. "I couldn't have been out that long." The younger man tried to stand. "It's not bad. I can track them. John can…" Reaves couldn't help the reflexive gasp as Jim pressed a dishtowel against the wound in his shoulder. "Jim, we have to save him…Please. God…don't let him get away." The idea of the monster with Dean hurt worse than any physical pain.

The pastor didn't move from beside the younger hunter, but they both lifted their heads towards the door as they heard the crunch of gravel under tires. Car doors slammed and Atticus began to bark.

"It's Joshua and Bobby," Reaves told him with a wince, his abilities rebelling the use even more after the added trauma. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn't be one damn bit good in tracking Dean.

Murphy nodded, but sent up a silent thank you he wasn't going to have to deal with the wounded psychic on his own. Joshua was always dabbling in the medical field and Bobby wasn't John, but he would work as an enforcer if need be. "That's good news, Son," Jim told him, giving his leg a pat. "They'll help us get our boy back. Just calm down."

"What the hell is going on?" Bobby demanded as he crossed the threshold, gun in hand. "Sawyer said we needed to come in…" His words trailed off as he took in the bloody site of Reaves and Murphy's pale, drawn features. "Jim?"

"Caleb's been shot." Jim informed him as if it were an every day occurrence in their lives.

"Joshua, get the first aid kit." The pastor ordered the other hunter as soon as he entered the room. Sawyer sent a brief glance in Reaves's direction before giving a curt nod and doing as The Guardian asked.

"Jim we don't…have time for..." Caleb clenched his jaw against the pain Jim's ministrations were causing and turned a pleading gaze to Singer. "That sick fuck took Dean. He works for Conner. We have to find him, Bobby."

"What?" Singer held up his hands. "What are you talking about? Who the hell shot you?"

"Peter Marcus."

"Who?"

"A guy who works for Conner." Caleb looked at him. "He's the killer. I should have known." On a normal day the psychic would have picked up the threat immediately, but at least now the sudden onset of the headache made sense. But then again, if Marcus wasn't supernatural… "Dean let him in the house. It was over before I even knew what was happening."

Bobby knelt beside the boy, lifting Jim's hand and eyeing the wound. "Is the slug still in there?"

"No!" Caleb jerked away. "It's just a fucking gash." He growled in frustration.

"It's more than a gash." Jim sighed, noting all the blood.

"Did you not hear me! That bastard has Dean! Forget me. I've had worse." And he had, making it all more unbearable. He had actually succumbed to a mere bullet wound, from some punk .38 special the guy probably picked up off the street from a two-bit dealer.

"I heard what you said, kid." Bobby stood, grabbing the cordless phone off the wall. He jammed his hand in the front pocket of his jeans and came out with a crumpled piece of yellow paper. "I'm on it." Singer nodded to Sawyer who had just barreled back into the room. "Take care of that, Slick."

"Are you calling Mackland and John?" Jim stood once Joshua made his way to them. Sawyer set his plastic box on the table in front of Reaves.

"Already did." Bobby nodded towards Reaves, dialing the number as he squinted to read his own scratchy scrawl. "The kid was able to get the point across that there was trouble." His face darkened. "They're on their way."

"Who are you calling then?" Caleb demanded, gritting his teeth as Joshua tore his shirt sleeve away to reach the wound easier.

Jim gave him a hard look. "Stay quiet and still until Joshua is finished."

The psychic didn't even acknowledge the satisfied smirk he saw appear on Sawyer's face at the command. Instead his gaze returned to Bobby, who was punching the keys of the phone.

"Bobby?" Jim's voice held a controlled edge to it.

"I'm trying the hotel. We need to warn that idiot Charles that there could be trouble."

Caleb felt bile climb up the back of his throat, mixing badly with the iron-taste of blood. "You don't think Sammy's in danger, too? That wouldn't fit with the pattern."

"Neither does waltzing into the victim's house and snatching him right out from under his family's nose either." Bobby growled when an electronic voice answered. "Goddamn voice mail." He glared at Jim. "Didn't you tell her the rule about always keeping her cell phone on when she's working a job?" The grizzled mechanic winced with the loud beep. " Manuela! It's Bobby. Call me or one of the boys when you get this fucking message!"

"We need…Ow!" Caleb turned a fierce glare to Sawyer. "What the hell are you using…fucking acid?" He looked up at Bobby and then to Jim. "Manuela? Why the hell was he calling the nanny?"

"It's a long story." Jim avoided the question. He moved his attention to Sawyer. "How bad is it?"

"If he would stop moving around I might actually be able to see what I'm doing." Joshua waved the bloody gauze at Reaves. "Perhaps I should sedate him."

"Like hell…"

"Boys!" Jim snapped. "Enough."

Both younger hunters fell silent and Murphy raked a hand through his wild gray hair. He calmly moved his gaze to Singer once more. "Call Mackland and Johnathan. Tell them what's happened." Jim felt the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders. He couldn't imagine Julian ever allowing a future Guardian to be kidnapped by a psychotic sociopath, a Scholar to fall into the hands of untrained fellows out of the ranks of The Brotherhood, and a Knight to be shot…all in the same week. It was time for him to get back to roots- to regain his center. "Instruct them to meet us in town at the church. We'll regroup there."

What better place to hope for a miracle than in God's house.

**RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnssnRcJ**

a/n: Remember those post cards, everyone! Reviews are welcome.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

a/n: Hope this small offering will tide you over until I return from vacation. I'm flying out to meet up with Tidia, Williamson, Mog & Leslie. I assure you there will be much discussion of fic and all things Supernatural. As for this chapter, I have always wanted to tell this story in the flashback. Williamson inspired me to do so with her story Stranded. Thanks, Wil. Thanks to all the reviewers and a special shout out to Blewfire and Tara.

_**RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ**_

"**Sorrow makes us all children again."-**

**Ralph Waldo Emerson**

_Cape Hatteras, NC _

_November 1979_

_Six-year-old Caleb Reaves watched as his father carefully laid the last card on top of their three story house of cards. It was the finishing touch, his father said-a skylight that would allow the stars to look down on them as they slept. _

_His daddy was always good at playing make believe. "So, what do you think, Son?" _

_Isaac Reaves glanced over to his little boy, a twinkle in his green eyes. "Is it worth a million dollars?" _

"_Two million," Caleb proclaimed, quietly not wanting to get too excited around the wobbly structure. The last house had been taken out by giggling fit before Mommy could take a picture. _

"_Maybe even five million." A soft voice from the doorway had both Reaves men looking towards the light coming from the adjoining room. "If we placed it on the perfect piece of beach property that is, with an amazing view of the Eastern sky." _

_Isaac laughed. "Perfect conditions for painting in the morning." _

"_Of course." Amelia Reaves crossed the room to kneel beside her husband and peer inside the little compartments. "But it will never be as nice as our house." _

"_Did you build our house, Daddy?" Caleb asked watching his father. _

"_You bet he did." Amelia answered, with a wink. "And it only took him five years." _

_Isaac gave his son a crooked smile, a hint of a dimple playing at his left cheek. "That's only because your mom wanted it on the beach with the perfect view of the Eastern sky." _

_Caleb could hear the waves crashing just outside their door and he grinned. "I love the beach." _

"_See." Amelia smirked. "I told you he took after me." _

"_Yeah, next thing we know he'll be covered in acrylics and reading dark, broody poetry." _

"_Better than drooling over power tools and metal beams." _

_Isaac snorted and reached out to tickle the little boy. "Are you kidding? This kid's got flakes of steel in his blood." _

"_Do not," Caleb protested, through giggles. "I've got paint thinner." _

"_No!" Isaac fell back in front of the fire place, clutching his heart in mock pain. "I've been betrayed by my own first born son. He's going to be an artist of all things." _

"_Maybe the next one will be more sympathetic to your lowly, blue-collar calling." Amelia laughed and crossed her legs to sit beside their mansion on the floor. "What do you think, Caleb?" _

_Caleb looked up at his mother, his eyes shining. "The next what?" _

_Amelia and Isaac shared a look and the woman's smile widened. She pulled the little boy into her lap, his back against her chest. "You realize that you and your father have forgotten the most important thing about houses?" She sing-songed, leaning her head forward so she could kiss Caleb's ear. _

_The boy squirmed closer, sighing as his mother's long, dark hair fell across his shoulder. The smell of sea air and ocean tickled his nose. "No we didn't. We put more closets for you this time."_

_Isaac laughed and his wife shot him an amused look. "I see your father's been talking about me again."_

"_He said you needed more room for your shoes." _

"_That's true." Amelia squeezed him closer. "And I appreciate you thinking of me, but I was talking about the people. Where's the family, ioio?" _

_Caleb looked up at his dad who shrugged. "Hey, I'm just the engineer, Son. Designing is architect's work."_

_The six-year-old reached over, pulled a pile of cards closer to him and started to go through them. Isaac smiled at his wife as their son presented her with the Queen of Hearts. "Mommy." He then gave his father the King of Hearts. "Daddy." After a few seconds he pulled a Jack of Spades free and held it up proudly. "And Me."_

"_The Jack of Spades, huh?" Isaac grinned. "No sappy hearts for my boy." _

"_Black's my favorite color," the little boy explained, simply. _

"_Actually black is a mixture of all the colors," Amelia pointed out and Isaac sighed. "And your boy has the biggest heart around." _

_Caleb smiled and took the cards back from his mother and father, carefully placing all three inside the first room of the house. "Now it has a family." He looked up at his mother. "Are you happy?" _

"_Oh yes." Amelia beamed. "But, you're forgetting one." _

"_Let me." Isaac reached over his son, digging through the cards until he found what he was looking for. He handed it to his son, who eyed the card suspiciously. "That needs to go in there with us." _

"_Are we getting a dog?" _

_Isaac shook his head at his son's quickness and Amelia reached out and punched him on the shoulder. "Something better," she said in mock sternness. _

"_What is it?" Caleb asked, studying the card._

"_Why, it's the Deuce of Spades," Isaac proclaimed, drawing out the suspense. _

_The little boy looked at the card again and his frown deepened. "Why this one, Daddy?" _

"_Because it's the wild card, son." The little boy glanced up at his father who winked at him and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "And Mommy doesn't know yet if she's having a boy or a girl." _

_RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ_

New Haven, Kentucky

1991

Caleb Reaves jumped slightly when his father's hand settled on his knee. "Son?"

The young psychic blinked, bringing himself back to present time.

Mackland squatted in front of the church pew where Caleb sat. He was concerned. "Are you okay?"

When the twenty-year-old didn't answer, Mac let his eyes go from the boy's face to the bloody bandage covering his arm. He sighed, forcing his gaze away from the wound. It wasn't the physical pain. Mackland was positive of that when he caught site of the object Caleb was holding. Ames recognized it instantly, although it had been quite sometime since he'd seen it.

The well-worn two of spades card usually resided in a hardback copy of the Three Musketeers. The card was one of the last things Isaac Reaves had given Caleb. His adopted son had managed to keep it all these years.

The fact Caleb kept it in the book Mackland had given him upon their first meeting always warmed the doctor's heart. Ames believed it was representative of Caleb's acceptance of Mackland as a member of the family he thought he had lost forever-perhaps even a new beginning.

The gesture had given Ames his first glimpse of hope that the troubled teen he had rescued from the institution might free himself from his troubled past. But, it took an act even more symbolic to convince him that he, Missouri, and Jim had indeed saved the boy. That happened the first time he heard his son call Dean Winchester- 'Deuce'.

"I failed him, Dad."

When his son did speak, the defeated tone in the young hunter's voice had Ames sliding into the pew next to Caleb. "Son, none of us expected the killer to be someone so close."

Caleb met his gaze. "I should have known." He swallowed thickly, glancing down at the card. "He expected me to watch out for him and Sam."

Mackland covered his son's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We'll get him back, Caleb."

Reaves looked at him again, his amber eyes shiny and wet. "What if we don't?"

"That's not an option." John Winchester's deep voice broke the surrounding quiet of the peaceful sanctuary.

Ames grit his teeth as Caleb jerked away from the momentary solace, standing quickly.

He didn't miss the fact his son slid the treasured card into his back pocket as he practically snapped to attention in front of Winchester.

"John…"

"You alright?"

Mackland glanced at his friend, slightly surprised at the genuine worry reflected in his tone. It wasn't that he didn't believe John cared for Caleb, on the contrary, but he also knew the state the former Marine had been in after hearing the news from Bobby. He was afraid the man was going to get them killed before they reached Jim's church.

"I'm fine." Caleb straightened his shoulders. The trained soldier instantly shadowing any trace of the sensitive boy Mackland sometimes caught glimpses of. "But Dean…"

"Is going to be fine." John's jaw clenched. "We'll have him back before daybreak. That bastard won't see one more sunrise."

Reaves nodded. "I tried to take him down as soon as I realized…but it…he…"

"You did good." John assured. "You let Bobby and Joshua know what was going on. You kept your head." Winchester reached out in an uncharacteristic move and squeezed the back of Caleb's neck. "I need you to keep it together now. The boys need you on top of your game. Got it?"

Mackland translated that to mean 'suck it up' and started to tell John exactly what he could do with his little pep talk when his son's reply cut him off at the knees.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." John, removed his hand, slapping the boy lightly on the cheek. "Now round Sawyer up and you two get the gear from the Impala. I want everything locked and loaded, Junior. The hunt's on."

Ames slowly sank back onto the crushed-velvet lined bench as his son strode purposefully away, a mission on his mind. John had effectively done what he had wanted to, but in a way he never would have tried. "I'll be damned." Mac sighed, dropping his head into his hands. When exactly had he lost all control?

"You okay?"

Ames glanced up, unable to hide the anger in his gaze. "If I'm not are you going to call me into formation and assign me a mission, Corporal?"

"What the fuck, Mac?" John threw his arms out in an exasperated gesture. "You want me to hold his hand? My son's missing. Both my boys are in danger. We don't have time to talk about who's feeling what. I need Caleb to do what I've trained him to do."

"My son has been on the bad end of this situation from the very beginning. Or did you miss the parts where he was beaten, concussed, and shot?"

"You want to bench him, Mackland?" John raged. "You want to stay here and take care of his booboo? Go ahead. I'll do this without you."

"Don't you dare question my loyalty, Johnathan!" Ames stepped toe to toe with Winchester. "I love your sons as if they were my own. I would easily lay down my own life for them, but you cannot ask me to sacrifice my own child without a blink of an eye."

John's face tightened, and his dark eyes glistened. "Isn't that what was asked of me?"

Mackland stepped back as if Winchester had struck him. "I never…Jim didn't…"

"Perhaps I did." Both men's gazes went to Murphy, who had appeared from the rectory. "But I would not have asked you to go along with my plan if I believed that Samuel or Dean was in any kind of mortal danger, Johnathan." The pastor made his way around the altar to come to stand in front of The Knight and Scholar. "The shepherd is sometimes blind to the wolf in sheep's clothing. I was so focused on undermining Conner that I did not see the true threat."

"There's no way you could have known about Peter Marcus, Jim." Mackland was quick to point out.

"I'm not speaking of Marcus, Mackland." Jim looked to John. "Maybe I have spent too many years minding the castle and not enough sharpening my claws." The pastor reached into his pocket, withdrawing the toy he'd found abandoned on his kitchen floor. He handed the white dragon to John. "It's time for Astorim to take flight."

_**RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ**_

"Are you sure you haven't seen Astorim?" Sam Winchester peered underneath his grandfather's couch for the third time, searching the darkness for his missing dragon. "He's white with silver tips on his wings. I know I had him earlier."

Charles Conner continued to study the computer in front of him. "Maybe you left him in the car when Manuela took you shopping earlier."

Sam frowned. "No. I would never do that. I always keep them together." His voice softened. "They're a family."

"Check with Manuela," Charles said, giving his grandson the briefest of glances. "If it doesn't turn up, we'll buy you another one. A bigger one. You can begin a new family."

"I don't want a different one. There's only one Astorim." Sam scuffed his foot on the carpet. "I only have one family."

If Charles heard the boy's comment he ignored it, going back to his work once more. "Go along, Samuel. I have to finish reviewing Peter's reports before tomorrow."

Sam's brow shot up at the mention of his grandfather's assistant. "Peter!" The boy had taken his backpack with him when Conner had gone to the other man's room last night. Sam had learned quickly there wasn't much to keep him occupied at either suite.

When his grandfather started talking about business, time slowed and Sam bored easily. He had taken the dragons for company. "I bet he has Astorim." Mr. Marcus had seemed very impressed by the mythical figurines, especially after Sam recounted one of Pastor Jim's stories while Conner was on an important business call.

Charles merely grumbled a reply that sounded more like a bunch of numbers than recognizable words and Sam huffed in frustration. He wasn't used to being ignored. Since the first time he could remember, someone had paid attention when he spoke, had offered a response for his inquiries. Of course he also had a father who could become obsessed with his job and it had taught him to take advantage of golden opportunities of adult distraction.

"Could I go down to Peter's to see if he has my dragon?" The question was asked quietly and casually and Sam grinned as he got the reaction he hoped.

"Yes, yes. Just allow me some momentary peace and quiet." Charles brushed the boy off, distractedly, obviously not hearing the question.

Sam exited his grandfather's office, racing through the living room. The five-year-old was grateful Manuela had been ordered out to purchase the items she had forgotten on Conner's list. The boy had felt bad for the woman when his grandfather had yelled at her, especially since it had been Sam's detour into the toy department that led the nanny astray from her seek and destroy shopping style. But as Sam slipped out of the penthouse and started for the elevator to Peter's, he couldn't quite get over his good luck.

_**RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ**_

Peter Marcus couldn't quite contain the exhalation he was feeling at his incredible good fortune. Dean Winchester was the perfect specimen.

Not only was he the right age, the boy was obviously smart and strong-willed. No one would push him around or take advantage of him. If half of what he had read in Conner's files were true, Dean Mathew Winchester would be the optimal body for Peter Marcus's rebirth.

As he ran the tip of his knife around the boy's jaw-line Peter could almost feel the power strumming through him. Dean was a fighter. Peter had never been a fighter-he had been a survivor. And now all that staunch patience was going to pay off. Peter was going to be rewarded with a new life. Dean's life.

The boy groaned and Peter nearly nicked him with the knife as every nerve-ending in his body seemed to respond and his hand jerked. Long, dark lashes fluttered against Dean's pale, bruised face and then Peter found himself looking into two pools of jade. Frank Marcus, Peter's father, had had green eyes. Peter smiled. "Welcome home, Dean."

Dean Winchester blinked, trying to bring the face looming above him into focus. The task was made difficult by the pounding in his head, the annoying ringing in his ears. He might not have been sure of the features, but the touch was definitely not familiar.

The clammy hand sliding over his hair, the fingers trailing across his cheek were not known, nor welcomed. Dean tried to jerk away, realized in a fraction of a second he was incapable of getting far. The feeling of being trapped almost sent him into a panic. He struggled weakly against the binds holding him tightly to a straight back chair.

"Shh, shh. It's okay." Peter cajoled, running his hands over the boy's golden hair. "You're with me. Everything is going to be fine now. I'm going to take good care of you."

Words that could have brought comfort if spoken by another sent a spike of terror through the twelve-year-old's heart. Dean tried to tell the stranger to get the hell away from him, but his words were muffled by the foul-tasting gag stretched across his mouth. Fear welled up inside him, his heart began to pound within his tight chest, and Dean saw spots dance in front of his eyes as he fought to take in more air.

"It's okay, Dean." Peter tried again, his ministrations bringing more panic to his captive. "Or is it, Deuce?"

The nickname sent another wave of agony lancing through Dean as his foggy memory began to clear and piece things together. It was Marcus. Peter Marcus had attacked him outside the hotel the night Dean had gone to see Sam. Peter had come to the farmhouse with one of Sam's dragons. Peter had stood in the kitchen with him and Caleb, feeding them lies about his little brother. Peter had shot Caleb.

Dean groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up. It had to be a nightmare. All of it. Caleb was alive. Sammy was home. And he was at Pastor Jim's farm-safe. That had to be it. He'd merely fallen asleep in the sun, down by the pond. Maybe he was in the rowboat, floating beneath the crystal blue sky.

The momentary relief the delusion brought was shattered when Peter's hands were on him again and the man's breath brushed against his cheek. "There now. Just relax. It will make all of this easier."

Dean choked on a sob, praying for that moment when his Dad or Caleb would shake him awake, Sammy would roll closer to him clasping his hand in that self-assured little boy way that had yet to be robbed from him by age.

But no comfort came.

Instead smooth, cold fingers closed around his throat. "No crying, Dean!" Peter growled. "Crying is for wimps. You're not a wimp. You're not a momma's boy!"

Dean cringed at the change in tone and volume. Peter's grip tightened on already bruised flesh. The twelve-year-old cried out in pain, the sounds of his distress dampened by the gag. But Marcus seemed to be incensed by it. "I said shut the hell up! You're a fucking man for Christ's sake!"

At that moment Dean wanted nothing more than to be a boy, a child that could crawl on his daddy's lap and have the whole world blocked out by the massive arms wrapped around him. _Please. Please. Please._ He echoed the words over and over in his mind, willing someone, anyone to hear him. _Please help me. _

Peter jerked as the doorbell rang. It echoed loudly in the small bedroom where he had secured Dean, and the unexpectedness of it had him quickly releasing the boy and stepping back in shock. "What the…"

Surely no one had followed him. He had not counted on Dean's family regrouping very quickly, especially in light of the fact that he had killed one of their own. No one should have expected him to return to the hotel. It would have been a foolhardy move on his part. It would have made more sense for him to run. Perhaps, these men were smarter than Conner gave them credit for.

The bell rung again, grating on Peter's nerves right along with the coughing sound Dean was making. "Shut up!" Peter growled, holding the knife up so Dean could see it. "Before I give you something to cry about!"

His order had little effect but the next sound had Dean quieting instantly.

"Mr. Marcus!" Sam Winchester's voice was muffled by the walls of the penthouse, but it was unmistakable just the same. Knocking replaced the bell and Sam's small voice called out again. "Peter! Are you home? It's Sam!"

Dean's body went rigid, his breath catching in his throat as all fear for himself became twisted and intensified and focused completely on his brother. _Sammy. _

"Well, well, well." Peter grinned, sliding a hand over his disheveled hair. "It seems we have a visitor."

Dean struggled against his bindings, his determination fueled by the prospect of his little brother falling into the hands of the psycho who had killed Caleb. He glared at Marcus, screaming threats and obscenities that would have had Pastor Jim washing his mouth out with soap.

Peter's smile grew. "There you are. That's my boy." He touched Dean's face and then glanced towards the door. Now he understood. Peter always was a fast learner. "I always wanted a brother."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

a/n: Hey all. Sorry for the slight cliffhanger. Oh, who am I kidding, I left you all haning in the wind, but honestly I simply ran out of time. In penance, I will try to post another part of Who Your Friends Are tomorrow. As I said, I will be leaving for vacation on Friday and although I hope to get some writing done while I'm gone I doubt if I will be able to post for about a week. Reviews are so welcome! Thanks for reading! Ridley


	9. Chapter 9

I have had this ready to post for days! And ffnet would not let me do it!!! So, please forgive the long wait. It was not purposeful.

Chapter 9

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

a/n: Sorry about the delay. I had too much fun on my vacation and not enough writing time. I'm hoping the outrageous length will make up for it. I started to break it into parts, but wanted to give everyone that Sam/Dean moment. Sigh. I've missed them. Anyway, we are slowly but surely making our way to the end of this saga. I would love to hear what you think. I also want to thank those who have reviewed, even when I am not the best at replying. Thanks to my friends also, who had to listen to Tidia and I go on and on about this story, her new story and our devious plans for our boys for the summer. Bg. They were very patient. Now…on with the story.

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

****

"We're our own dragons as well as our own heroes.

We have to rescue ourselves from ourselves."- Tom Robbins.

Mackland held the old Red Sox baseball cap in his hand, focusing his attention, praying he would pick up a feeling that would lead them to Dean. He had done the action many times before, relying on his gift of psychometrics to locate the owner of a special object that had been brought to him. Usually the haunted eyes of parents shadowed his ever move, desperately waiting for him to bring them a shred of news about their child. Often times his lead brought only pain, confirmation of a loss. At the most it delivered some semblance of peace.

It was always hard. Now it was his closest friend. He could feel John staring at him as well as Caleb, waiting on bated breath for him to give them some link, some strand of hope Dean was still alive. Mac would forever have a new understanding of the power he wielded-the responsibility he accepted with each case he chose to become involved with. Never again would he be able to see it as merely a job.

"Dad?" Caleb's voice had him sighing.

"Son, could you please move back a few steps." Mackland looked at him. "And stop trying to read me."

Reaves paced around his father. "I don't think you need to do this. Maybe I can track him."

Ames shared a look with John.

The other hunter raked a hand through his hair. "Caleb, sit down or go outside."

The doctor knew his son connected his work to death. "Son, sometimes I find live victims. This isn't a death sentence."

Caleb's lips pursed and he looked at the ball cap. "But…"

"We don't have time for this!" John snapped. "Mac, do what you need to do."

Ames closed his eyes again, fingers traced around the B on the cap, letting go of his own worry and doubts. Emotions came to him first. Faint ones he knew from experience were old, then a stronger, predominant rush of fear.

It was the same with most victims, but then there would be a darkness, a deep hollow sensation when Mackland would know the person he was searching for was gone. The smile wasn't appropriate but it came along with the strong surge of anger that suddenly flowed through him. Dean was alive and pissed.

"He's alive."

"Thank God." John exhaled heavily and Caleb slumped into the pew beside him.

"Dad?" he questioned again.

Mac held up a hand, keeping his eyes closed. The flashes of images were coming now. A tree lined path. A fountain with an angel, arms outstretched. Then a room covered in photos. Children with blank staring eyes, bruised and bloodied bodies. Ames winced, blinking away the scene and the nightmarish pictures. He rubbed a finger over his eyebrow, taking a deep breath before facing John and Caleb.

"Was there a fountain at the hotel?"

Caleb frowned. "Yeah. But he wouldn't go back there…"

"Was there an angel in the center? Trees around the courtyard?"

Reaves nodded. "He's really lost it if he dragged Dean back to the center of town."

"Apparently he's either not as smart as I originally thought, or very clever."

"Hiding in plain sight." John stood, pacing. "Damn. That's a fucking public place. Conner's money would allow him private access to the penthouse. He probably has his own wing. We're going to have think about this."

"We need to make sure Sam is secure and that Manuela knows what's going on."

Mackland returned the ball cap to John.

John accepted the hat, and rubbed his hand along the brim. "Jim went to try to call her again. Joshua and Bobby are putting things in the Impala."

"Can you call Conner?"

John folded the hat, and tucked it inside his jacket. "He won't accept my calls. Fucker screens them through a service."

Caleb's dislike of the man was growing by leaps and bounds. "Sonofabitch."

Mac placed a hand on Winchester's arm. "We know he's alive, John. We know where he is." He shifted his gaze to include Caleb. "Let's go get him."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

The nightmare was supposed to end when you awoke, not get worse. Not only had Dean found himself in the hands of a psychotic killer, but his little brother was about to enter into the lion's den. He mumbled loudly through the gag, fighting his restraints.

"Hush!" Peter reprimanded, pressing the knife close to Dean's throat again. "One word from you and you'll become an instant only child." Marcus traced his finger down the boy's cheek trailing one angry tear. "No one's going to rescue you this time. Don't forget what happened to your buddy Reaves."

Dean jerked away, but kept quiet. Peter smiled. "I'll be back. If you play nice, Sam will be fine."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

The back entrance of the hotel was barely lit, but the cloudless night sky offered some illumination from the half moon. From the plans Reaves had drawn for them from memory, John devised a well-detailed maneuver. The hedge-lined path leading to the brick walkway would offer them cover most of the way to the door. Bobby would break off, moving to the stand of trees where Caleb had stopped the original attack on Dean.

John would position himself in the bushes by the door, probably in the same place Marcus had lain in wait for Dean. They were planning to flush the man out into the open, taking him with the least threat of danger to innocent bystanders- with the least risk to Dean and possibly Sam. Winchester was thankful it was late and the parking lot to the hotel was bare. If they were lucky, there would be minimal interference from civilians.

"Are they here?" John looked at Caleb.

The psychic was staring up at the building. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. Reaves concentrated on Dean. His talent didn't necessarily lie in the area of detecting another's presence, but when it came to those he was close to, he could get a sense of their location. It came in handy on hunts, when he could keep a mental map of the players on the field. Every one had their own energy. His grandmother called it aura. It worked well with John and Bobby, but it was strongest with Dean and Sam. "Yeah." He looked at his mentor. "He's here. Sammy, too."

"Are they together?"

"I can't tell." Caleb winced as he once again tried to follow the mental thread to the boys. Things were still out of whack. "It's not clear."

John nodded. "At least we know they're here." He turned to Sawyer. "Joshua, I want you to back up Mackland."

"What?" Caleb asked, sidling closer to John who was now using the binoculars to watch the hotel. "I'm going up with Dad."

"No." John lowered the glasses. "Manuela is almost here. If we need more back up she'll go. You're going to watch the hallway into the main lobby."

"Why?" Reaves demanded. "I'm usually on point."

"No." Winchester shook his head, dismissing the younger hunter's protests. "You know the plan." He understood why Caleb wanted to be in the thick of things, but feelings couldn't get in the way of the mission.

"I'm the better shot."

Joshua grumbled his disagreement. "As well as being able to dodge speeding bullets and leap buildings with a single bound."

"Shut up."

John silenced Caleb with a look. "Sawyer is bringing up Mackland's rear. Bobby is taking point with me. _You_ are watching the hallway that leads into the front lobby."

"But Dean…"

"You weren't on the top of your game before being shot, Junior. You were hit in your dominant arm." Winchester's voice was sharp and commanding, a sure sign he was quickly losing patience. "I can't risk you being one of the key players."

Caleb looked away, flexing his left hand, feeling the burning sensation racing along his bicep. He hated that John was right. This was a hunt. No time for dissention. Dean and Sam's lives hung in the balance. "Yes, sir."

Winchester softened his tone. Mackland was right. Caleb had been hurt in this as much as anyone and he knew the guilt from being unable to keep Dean safe was eating away at the kid. "Hey." He waited for the younger hunter to look at him. "I need you down there. We're betting most of our money on him coming this way, but best laid plans and all… That bastard can't get by us."

Reaves nodded as his father stepped along side them, shouldering a duffel which he set at John's feet. "I'm going to speak to Conner alone. Manuela told Bobby that Sam was getting ready for bed when she left to run the errand for Charles. We can hope he's safe and asleep."

"Charles isn't going to buy into all this. He'll think it's a trick."

"Then I'll have to persuade him." Ames checked his weapon and slid the gun into the side holster under his jacket. "We'll need him to cooperate if we're to get Marcus out in the open."

John cast another look towards the hotel and then around their perimeter. "Jim?"

Mac met his gaze. "He said he was getting closer to God."

"Good. We're going to need all the help we can get."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

"Hey, Sam." Peter opened the door to his suite. He offered the seven-year-old a forced smile, waving him in. "What brings you down so late? It's past your bed time, isn't it?"

The boy moved into the room, glancing around. "Were you sleeping?" He asked, answering the question with a question, a habit that seemed to drive his grandfather crazy. The businessman's reaction only encouraged the behavior.

"No. I was talking to a friend on the phone, actually."

"A girlfriend?" Sam walked behind the small couch. "Caleb talks to girls on the phone sometimes."

Marcus closed the door, following the kid's perusal of the room. "Don't have a girlfriend."

Sam stopped by the coffee table he had used as a castle the night before. "Have you seen my white dragon?"

"I don't think so." Peter lied. "Did you lose it?"

Sam dropped to his knees and checked under the couch, using his hand to pat the places he couldn't quite see. "Maybe."

"I hope not. You had a nice collection."

The boy sat on his bottom and looked up at Marcus. "I have one for everybody in my family, except for Bobby. But Caleb gave me a troll doll for him. Obbinger works in the royal stables."

"I see."

"But Astorim is the leader. He runs the castle."

"I can understand why he would be important."

Sam stood making his way towards the hallway. "Are you sure I didn't leave him in one of the other rooms?"

Peter quickly moved in front of the boy as he neared the first bedroom door. "I'm sure. I would have found it by now."

Sam frowned, tilting his head slightly. A familiar feeling washed over him, as gooseflesh covered his arms. He shivered. "A possum just crossed over my grave."

"What?" Peter asked, practically leaning against the door now.

"Pastor Jim says that when he gets a funny feeling." The child shrugged. "But I don't really know how a person has a grave unless their dead. Or what possums have to do with it. Did you know they are marsupials?"

"Huh?"

"Like kangaroos," Sam explained, his hand, brushing against the door Marcus was guarding. "Dean read me a story about them once."

"Speaking of stories, I really think it is past your bedtime." A part of Marcus was slightly charged by the idea of Sam bearing witness to his transformation. But if he were to become one with Dean, the less of those close to the boy to know the truth the better. It would allow Peter to step into the boy's world completely. He could bond with Sam later.

Sam let his hand linger on the door, not quite understanding his desire to enter the room. Thoughts of his brother filled his mind, and his eyes began to sting. "I can't sleep good without Dean."

"Maybe Manuela could make you some warm milk. I bet she's wondering where you are by now."

"She's at the store."

Peter sighed. "Look, Sam. I really need to go to bed, if you don't mind. I have to get up early in the morning."

"Could we just look in this room?"

"Maybe tomorrow. Besides you were never in there."

"But it could have gotten put in there by the people who clean up every day." Sam pressed, reaching for the doorknob again. "Dean will be sad if I don't find Astorim."

"I said no." Marcus snapped harshly, slapping the child's hand away.

The seven-year-old recoiled, pulling his arm to his chest. He looked up at the older man in surprise. He wasn't used to people yelling at him, maybe when his father was angry, but it was rare. And no one hit him. Ever. Sam suddenly felt very alone and very small. "I better go."

"Yes." Marcus made no effort to apologize. "I think that would be a good idea."

Sam started towards the living area but turned and looked at the door again as the sensation from earlier grew stronger. The little boy didn't know how to explain it. It was like waiting in the car while his brother and father were on a hunt. Even though he was separated from Dean, he could almost imagine where he was; feel an invisible rope connecting them.

Caleb had taught him how to do it while he and Dean were playing hide-and-seek and Sam was once again on the losing end unable to locate the older boy. Caleb had told him to think about Dean and imagine a piece of thread being tied to him. He said all Sam needed to do was follow the line and he would find Dean every time. It worked and his brother was never the wiser. That didn't explain why Dean seemed so close now. Like he was only in the next room.

"Dean?" Sam said softly.

"What did you say?" Peter asked, his face paling. He heard.

Sam looked up at him, his dark eyes holding a hint of defiance Peter had witnessed when Conner would attempt to tell the boy something the child didn't want to hear. "Is my brother here?"

Marcus clenched his fists, his mouth setting in a grim line. Perhaps having a little brother would be more of a hassle than it was worth. He reached for the boy just as the doorbell chimed loudly, causing both he and Sam to jump.

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

"My lawyer will be informed of these strong arm tactics, Ames." Charles Conner stood outside Peter Marcus's door, his face red with anger. "I am sick of these dramatics. First your pseudo son and now you. Winchester made a deal with me. If he is not going to stick with it, then neither am I. We will see what the police think of my files."

Mackland shook his head at the man's stubbornness. He tried to reason with Conner, telling him Sam and Dean were in danger. Ames told him about the murders how they linked with his travels and how Peter was a very sick man. But nothing had sunk in. Charles still believed they were playing games. "You shouldn't make threats, Charles. You have been given a reprieve you don't understand and obviously don't deserve. If you push hard enough, John will push back. And he won't be alone."

"You mean this Brotherhood that you are a part of?" The man snarled his nose in disgust. "Men of poor measure such as Murphy and Winchester I can understand. But you…" He looked Ames up and down. "You're from the finest of families. Your stature in your career was irreproachable. How can you lower yourself to associate with murderers and trash? Then there are the circus side shows like your son. He belongs in a cage, perhaps in a science lab, not a position of privilege."

Ames reached out and pressed the doorbell again, trying to keep himself from using Conner's head to beat against the door. "You have no idea how special my son is, Conner. Just as you obviously didn't understand your daughter." Mac waited for the man's reaction, knowing it would come. Missouri had told him her suspicions about Mary Winchester in confidence. When Charles looked at him in surprise, her theories were given more validity. Mackland continued. "Nor will you ever understand Samuel. You don't deserve the chance."

Conner paled further, looking as if he wanted to come back with a justifiable repute-a denial. But instead he mimicked a fish out of water, its mouth opening and closing with no sound.

Mac smiled sadly. Fear blinded people. If Charles only knew how much he and John Winchester had in common. "The Brotherhood will not allow you the chance."

Charles wasn't given an opportunity to reply this time as the door was suddenly swung open and they were greeted by Marcus. Peter smiled. "Charles." His eyes went from his boss to the stranger by his side. "I bet you've lost a grandson."

"Ah, yes." Conner swallowed, moistening his dry mouth. "I came to fetch Samuel."

Marcus opened the door wider, revealing the seven-year-old by his side. "He was just leaving."

"Mac?" Sam stepped forward as soon as he caught sight of the doctor. "What are you doing here?"

"Sam." Ames moved around Peter, holding his hand out for the boy. He smiled reassuringly. "I've come for a visit. How about we go upstairs and you show me your new room?"

The little boy grasped the doctor's hand, more relieved than he could voice that the doctor was there. "I can't leave yet."

"It's time to go." Conner ordered. "You have taken up enough of Peter's time."

"But Dean…" Sam looked up at his grandfather. "I feel Dean here."

"What?" Charles shook his head at him, glancing around the room. "That's nonsense."

"No." Sam looked up at Mackland. "I do, Mac. Like Caleb taught me. I followed the rope in my head. He's here. I know it."

"First the missing dragon, now a missing brother." Peter laughed, discounting the little boy's concern. "Seems Sam thinks my room is the place where all those socks end up after they disappear in countless dryers across the world."

Mackland nodded. "Boys can have grand imaginations." He needed to remove Sam from the situation as quickly as possible. Joshua was stationed at the end of the hall, waiting to take the child and Conner to a safe location until it was over. He looked at the seven-year-old. "I'll help you look when we get back to Conner's, Son. Let's go."

"But Dean…" Sam protested again as he was pulled forward. "He's here, Mac. I know it. Just look in that room." The little boy pointed towards the bedroom. "Please."

Ames felt the moment Peter knew his gig was up. Sam managed to slip free of Mackland, started for the door he pointed to and Conner followed him. "Samuel!"

Marcus moved quickly, pulling the small handgun from the pocket of his jacket. "Stop!" he shouted at Charles.

The businessman and Sam turned to look at Peter, Charles's face showing his confusion. "Peter! What is this?"

"Just take it easy, Marcus. This doesn't need to go any further." Mackland tried, his mind racing with the best ways to handle the situation. His own weapon was easily in reach, but he didn't want to startle Peter, who was swinging the gun between Sam and his boss. If only he could draw his attention... "We'll take our leave now."

The words had the desired effect and Peter jerked the gun towards Ames. "No one is leaving!"

Mackland quickly made his decision, using a purposeful thought to send Peter careening through the air and crashing into the opposite wall. Unfortunately the force of the impact had Marcus's reflexes reacting on the trigger as he crumpled to the floor. The explosion of gunfire filled the room and Ames felt fiery heat erupt in his side. Flaring pain disintegrated his concentration and he cried out as he staggered slightly before falling to his knees.

"No!" Sam screamed, dashing toward the downed doctor. "Mac!"

"Run, Sammy." Mac ordered as the boy slid to a halt beside him. "Get him the hell out of here, Conner! Now!"

Charles was cowering, the loud noise and sudden chaos freezing him in his spot.

"Mac!" Sam clung to the doctor. "You're bleeding." He began to cry.

"Sammy…" Ames used his good arm to grab the boy. "Go to the door. Joshua…"

Before the doctor could finish, the door exploded open in a splintering of wood and Sawyer barreled in, his weapon held at the ready. "Mackland?"

"Get the boy out of here." Ames shoved Sam towards Joshua, his gaze going to where Peter Marcus had fallen. The man was no longer there. "Damn it!"

Joshua stepped forward and took hold of Sam, dragging the resisting child towards the hallway. "No! I want to stay with Mac."

Ames pushed himself up from the floor, glaring at Conner who had yet to move. "Where'd Marcus go?"

The man didn't have to respond because Marcus appeared from the bedroom, dragging a protesting Dean with him. The boy was held protectively in front of the killer like a shield. He was stumbling with each step, his injured knee unable to hold his full weight. To make matters worse one of Peter's meaty arms was snug across the boy's throat, forcing the kid to walk on tip-toes. In his other hand Marcus held the gun, shoved painfully against Dean's temple. "Get the hell away from me!"

"Dean!" Sam yelled as he watched his big brother be dragged across the floor, arms bound in front of him, gag tied tightly across his mouth.

Dean's heart quickened. When he heard the gunshot he feared the worst. Seeing Sam alive and unhurt Dean's eyes stung, the huge lump in his throat joining forces with the gag to impede his breathing. Mackland was there and bleeding. Dean thought of Caleb and his vision swam in and out of focus. "..am." He tried to speak his brother's name but it came out weak and muffled.

Ames held his hands up. "Let him go, Peter, and we'll get you help."

"NO!" Marcus dug the barrel of the gun into the boy's head and Dean winced, crying out, nearly choking on the dirty cloth.

Sam jerked free of Joshua moving towards the older boy and Peter. "Don't hurt my brother!"

Mackland caught the boy, pulling Sam back behind him with a wince. He could feel blood sliding down his side, saturating the polo shirt he was wearing as well as the top of his pants.

Joshua stepped closer but still blocking the door. He kept his gun trained on Marcus. "Let the boy go." His finger rested on the trigger.

Ames shot the younger hunter a quick look, a shake of his head telling Sawyer to back off before returning his attention to Marcus and Dean. "You still have a chance to end this-to walk out alive, Peter."

The killer shook his head. "My life is over. There is no Peter. Dean is the beginning."

Mackland maneuvered around keeping Sam behind him as he tracked the killer, who was pulling his prey towards the door. "Move out of my way or I finish it all here and now. I swear to God I will!"

Joshua held his position. He flicked his gaze to Dean momentarily, wondering if the boy could move if he could someone how communicate his intentions to him. Unfortunately that didn't seem to be an option. Marcus was big and obviously strong. It looked as if Dean was barely able to breathe, and considering the previous injuries to his throat, Peter was already taking on most of the twelve-year-old's weight. Dean going limp probably wouldn't throw the psychotic bastard off.

"Move!" Marcus shouted again, Dean jerked in his grasp. Sam cried louder.

"Do it, Josh." Mackland's voice was soft, but unwavering. "Give him room."

Sawyer backed away, but never lowered his gun.

"If you show your face in the hall…any of you…I will kill him." Peter swore, backing out of the room.

Joshua looked to Ames once the man disappeared. "Mac?"

"Don't let him get away!" Sam cried. "He's going to take Dean."

Ames pushed the boy towards Conner, not letting go of Sam until Charles grabbed his grandson's arm. "Do not let him go." He said pointedly, holding the man's gaze until the businessman nodded.

"Dean!" Sam howled, fighting with his grandfather, but Charles held fast.

Mackland pulled the hand-held radio from his belt. "Target is in route." He waved Joshua towards the door, where the younger hunter slipped a mirror attached to a slim metal rod from his sleeve and used it to peer into the hall without revealing his body.

"Service elevator," he reported.

Ames spoke into the radio again. "Back entrance. Dean is with him. Sam is with us."

John's static-filled voice filled the room. _"Copy that. Everyone hold your position."_

"Daddy?" Sam cried.

"Mackland?" Joshua remained at the door, waiting.

"Stay here. They need protecting." Ames jutted his chin towards Sam and Conner. "Hold your post, no matter what."

Joshua frowned. "What about you?"

Ames met his gaze, a slight grimace fleeting across his face. "I'm going to pass out now."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

John was ready when the monster emerged. He stealthily stepped from the bushes just as the man passed by his position moving towards the nearby lit fountain nearby. It only took moments before Bobby emerged in front of Marcus, gun held at the ready.

Peter pulled up short, jerking Dean back against his chest.

"You've got no where to go but in the ground," Bobby said.

Marcus swung around, obviously thinking he could retreat. But John was there waiting.

"Let my son go before I drop you where you stand."

"I'll kill him." Peter threatened, shoving the muzzle of the gun against Dean's head again.

The kid looked at his dad. He didn't know how much more he could take. His throat felt as if it was being crushed. The pressure of the gun against his head had his heart racing, his breath unable to keep up with its demanding pace. He whimpered, ashamed but unable to stop the tears from coming.

John's eyes flicked to Dean and he forced himself to remain calm. The boy looked terrified, rightfully so, and every protective instinct flared to life. "Let him go and I'll let you walk away." It wasn't true. Marcus wouldn't live past tonight. Of that, Winchester was sure.

"I'm not leaving here without Dean. You'll get him back. We'll all be a family. You'll see. It'll be better for all of us."

Winchester noticed Singer moving in closer. They were trapping the animal, triangulating with the fountain as their apex. It was dangerous, but he couldn't let the man take Dean. It was too risky. He'd seen the body of the last little boy. That would never be his son's fate. "That's not going to happen."

Peter met John's gaze, his eyes hardening. Winchester had seen that look before in the eyes of other enemies. The bastard was going to do it and neither he nor Singer could do anything to stop him. "Bobby…"

John never finished his thought.

Peter Marcus's eyes widened, and his mouth opened but no sound escaped. His whole body went limp, his knees buckling. Then he fell backwards into the fountain at the stone angel's feet, dead before he hit the water with a splash.

Dean felt his captor jerk ever so slightly, a splatter of some thing hot and wet across his face and then he could breathe. He gasped, stumbling against the edge of the fountain as Peter's collapsing form tried to drag him down with it. Dean felt himself falling when strong arms gripped the front of his shirt and jerked him forward. "Dean!"

John pulled his boy towards him, watched the upper part of the killer's body strike the water, go under and then resurface baptismal-like. Unseeing eyes stared towards the star-filled sky, mimicking the cement guardian's heavenward gesture. Winchester held his son against him, turning so the boy wouldn't see the macabre sight. He'd had enough trauma for one night. "Easy."

"John?" Bobby closed the gap between them. "He alright?"

"He's good. Call it in."

Singer nodded, lifting his radio. "Target eliminated. Clear to clean up." He looked at John. "You need me?"

Winchester shook his head. "Go check on Mackland and Sammy. Then you and Sawyer get the body ready for transport. ASAP."

Bobby glanced to the fountain, whistled at the accuracy it took to take Marcus out in a manner that ensured no danger to Dean. "Jim's still the master." He glanced towards the other hotel adjacent to them in the distance. "His walk in the clouds paid off."

John grimaced, holding Dean a little tighter. "Thank God." Things could have gone so much worse. He could have lost his son. Mary would never have forgiven him.

Singer snorted "And Murphy's military issue sniper rifle."

"Bobby." John sighed.

"Right. Check on Mackland. _Supervise_ Slick in the clean-up." Bobby moved away, shaking his head.

John pulled Dean further from the fountain before kneeling in front of him. "Son?"

The boy was still panting and Winchester quickly reached up to untie the gag. "You with me?"

"Dad?" Dean croaked. He winced as his father ran a hand over his hair. "Is he dead?"

"Yeah, Ace. He's dead." John pulled out his knife and made quick work of the ropes around his son's wrists.

"Good." Dean choked.

"Hey." John lifted the boy's chin. "Are you alright?"

The twelve-year-old shook his head, feeling his eyes sting again. He bit his lip to keep from crying, but couldn't stop himself from collapsing against his father. "I'm sorry."

John held him. "This wasn't your fault. Marcus was crazy. That's all."

Dean's body shook against him. "He shot Mac."

Winchester exhaled heavily. Another person hurt in this epic mess. "He'll be okay. It can't be too bad. He radioed in after Marcus dragged you out of there."

"Sammy…"

"Is fine," John told him. "We're all okay. It's over."

Dean shuddered. It would never be over. "I let him in the farm," the boy said miserably. "I thought Sammy was in trouble and …" He buried his face in father's chest. "Caleb…"

"John!"

The impossibly familiar voice had Dean jerking his head up, his words catching in his throat.

An apparition was moving towards them.

"God. Is he okay?" Caleb had been stopped by Bobby, but Singer had been short on explanations. He glanced towards the fountain as he came alongside Winchester and Dean.

"He's hanging in there." Winchester stood, squeezing his son's shoulder. "Take care of him. I need to check on Sam." John met the other hunter's gaze. "Clean him up before his brother sees him."

Reaves nodded. "We'll be up in a minute."

Dean still hadn't said anything, was merely blinking owlishly up at the other hunter. Caleb thought the twelve-year-old looked like the star of some generic horror flick, the victim who barely got away. Reaves had the irrational need to empty a clip into the floating corpse behind them just to reaffirm he would be staying dead and not reanimating to finish the job he started. "Hey, Deuce. Snap out of it."

Caleb watched the kid step back away from him, paling further. He reached a hand out to grab the boy afraid he was going to pass out, but Dean stumbled out of his reach. "Dean?"

"You're dead."

The pieces fell together. Reaves had spent plenty of time berating himself for letting Dean get taken, but he never stopped to consider what Dean might have been _thinking_. Instead, he'd been more concerned about any physical harm. It was a mistake they all made sometimes. Sam was the sensitive one, Dean the take charge one. When in reality, the older Winchester sibling felt things on a deep intuitive level he spent vast reserves of energy hiding. "Deuce…"

Dean shook his head, once again evading the older boy's grasp. "I saw…him do it. He said…"

The boy's voice was raw and painful sounding and the watery pain-filled gaze had Caleb's stomach knotting. "He lied." Reaves gestured to his bandaged left arm. "Barely a graze. Joshua's a better shot. And besides, remember what I told you, dragons don't die."

The joke fell flat and Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Caleb frowned, taking another step towards the kid. "I was the one who fucked up and got shot."

Dean tensed, but stayed where he was. "I let him in. I trusted him."

"Dude, you didn't mess up. You were watching out for Sammy. He knew your weak spot and used it against you."

The twelve-year-old glanced towards the fountain, shook his head in denial. "I couldn't do anything. He was going to hurt him like he did you and I…"

Caleb didn't miss the way Dean was starting to shiver. The adrenaline was wearing off and shock was an all too real danger. "Let it go, Deuce."

Dean looked up at him, seeming surprised the older hunter had gotten so close without his knowledge, but he didn't move away. "I want Sammy to come home."

Reaves sighed, reaching out and pulling the kid to him. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of the boy's head when he felt Dean's hands clutching to the back of Caleb's shirt. "I know, kiddo."

"I want it all to be over."

Caleb held him tighter. "Yeah."

"I'm glad you're not dead." The words were soft and mumbled against Caleb's chest but he heard them loud and clear.

Reaves laughed. "Ditto, Deuce."

They stayed like that for a long moment, Reaves giving them both time to assimilate into their fractured psyches that the other was truly okay, that perhaps the most current crisis had ended. Then Reaves regained his composure, brought up the usual barriers that allowed him to walk about in his chosen world. He needed to get Dean away from Marcus's body before Bobby and Sawyer came back down. Caleb pulled back. "We good?"

Dean silently looked up at him and Caleb ran a hand over his blond hair and sighed at the added bruises and gore. It was a stupid question. "Think we can patch you up a little, Frankenstein, before Sammy sees you?"

The twelve-year-old nodded, swallowing thickly. "As long as you don't start crying or hugging me again."

Reaves snorted. He appreciated the effort Dean was taking to return balance to their typical screwed up lives. Caleb had no choice but to return the favor. "Deuce, everyone knows that near death experiences by psychotic serial killers are green flags for momentary chick-flick scenes, right along with your favorite team losing the World Series and Old Yeller dying. It's in the Hunter's Handbook." His mouth quirked when the kid rolled his eyes at the classic con. "But I never cried."

"Okay," Dean said, doubtfully.

Reaves tossed an arm around his shoulders and guided him towards the door. "I mean I might have gotten a little misty-eyed. But that was definitely because of all the incense Jim was burning at the church. You know how he goes overboard with the sage."

"Right." Dean leaned into the older hunter, taking comfort in the half-hearted denial. "Sage."

"Then Jim let Josh play doctor and that was a bitch." Caleb sighed. "But still, no tears."

"That must have sucked."

Caleb opened the door and looked at Dean, the bruises and blood standing out vividly in the glow of the lights from the entranceway. "You're not buying any of this. Are you?"

"Do you want me to?"

Reaves dropped his gaze to the ground for a moment, before looking at Dean. His chest was tight, the lump in his throat making it hard to talk. Dean wasn't the only one coming off an adrenaline rush. "You scared the hell out of me, Deuce. I thought…I thought I'd lost you. And there's nothing about that kind of fear in the Handbook."

"I won't tell anyone you balled like a baby."

Caleb laughed again, pulling the kid close to his side again. He gave him a hard squeeze, kissed him chastely on top of the head, and pushed him inside the hotel. "Do and you'll never see thirteen, Deuce."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsRcJ

After a quick trip to the restroom to clean up, Dean and Caleb made it back to Marcus's room without incident. Reaves felt the younger boy tense at the entranceway and wished John had moved the little party back to Conner's penthouse. Hopefully if things worked out they would be on their way to the farm soon. "You alright with this?" the psychic asked, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

"Sammy's in there."

That was an affirmative in Dean speak, so Caleb opened the door and went in first. At least he could lead the way, despite his lack of ability to turn back time and fix everything.

Charles Conner was sitting on the couch, nursing a glass of scotch. Manuela was hovering in the perimeter, her alert gaze instantly covered the two newcomers.

Caleb recognized the tension and the reflexive relaxation as she recognized them. Her dark eyes met his and she nodded. "Your father is in the bathroom with Winchester." She reported and Reaves didn't miss the fact the heavy accent had disappeared along with the disheveled look from before. Apparently the nanny gig was up. "Mr. Conner has been so kind to call down to the front desk and explain the loud noises from before were caused by his grandson playing a game."

Charles looked up at them, taking another long drink of the alcohol. "Reporting an attempted murder is not something I relish in." He shook his head, looking rather shaken. "Then there is the business about the demise of my assistant. I can only imagine the inconvenience of explaining _that_ to the authorities, not to mention having my name splashed across every morning headline."

"Yeah. That's a real bitch." Caleb glared at the man. "Almost like being kidnapped and terrorized by a serial killer."

Conner's blue gaze moved to Dean and his face softened. He looked the boy over. "Are you alright, Dean?"

The twelve-year-old glanced up at Caleb. "I want to check on Sammy."

"He's in the bedroom..." Manuela explained but a panicked look from Dean cut her off.

"What? You let him go in that room?" The idea of his baby brother seeing Peter's pictures and trophies set his heart pounding again. His frightened gaze swung to Reaves. "Caleb, there're things in there…"

"No." The woman shook her head, quickly allaying the child's concern. "I didn't send him into **that **room. Your father ordered him to the master bedroom. I put a DVD in for him, although he wasn't too happy about the situation."

"Take it easy, Deuce. Manuela's on our side. I'm sure she knows her stuff."

The kid frowned, looking at the woman again. "She's not Sam's nanny?"

Caleb's mouth twitched. "Looks like The Brotherhood has started its own babysitting service."

"Which from the looks of things has been needed for quite some time."

The way in which it was said led Reaves to believe that Manuela had been privy to much more information about them than the younger hunters had about her.

"I knew I should have checked your references more carefully." Conner grumbled, standing to refill his drink. "Playing me for a fool will not help John's case."

Dean watched his grandfather move towards the mini-bar. He wanted to say something, tell the man just what an ass he was, but Reaves pushed him to the hallway. "Let's go, kiddo. We need to be ready to go when Bobby and Josh finish up downstairs."

The twelve-year-old hesitated, but when Conner continued to inspect different liquors, the boy moved on. Caleb watched him step away from the first closed door they passed and the psychic felt a wave of emotion crash over him as he focused on the room. It was where the Marcus had held Dean.

Reaves concentrated on the other room, finding Sam. The boy was safe and he let that erase the negative sensations assaulting him. "I'm going to check on Dad and Johnny." He nodded towards the door Dean needed. "He's in there, Deuce."

The boy swallowed thickly. "Thanks." He picked up his pace to get to his brother. Reaves watched him disappear into the room and shut the door before continuing onto the bathroom at the end of hallway.

He could hear John's heated voice before reaching the door and he took a quick breath before entering. "Since when did you two take up the girly habit of…"

The psychic's voice trailed off as he took in the sight of his father. Mackland was perched on the porcelain-tiled tub, his bloodied shirt raised enough so John could work on the bullet wound. "Dad? What the hell?"

"It's nothing," Ames grumbled, glowering at Winchester when his friend snorted in derision. "John's bumbling attempt to dress a superficial wound is making it look worse than it appears."

"No one told me you were hurt." Caleb felt another wave of anger at John for putting him out of the thick of things. "Where the hell was Josh?"

"In the hallway where I instructed him to stay."

"Are you sure you're okay?" There was a lot of blood. Reaves felt bile rise to the back of his throat. He wasn't use to being involved in a hunt with his father. It was unnatural and it brought back too many memories of his biological father covered in blood from the fatal self-inflicted gunshot wound. "It looks bad. We should take you to the hospital."

John and Mackland shared a quick look. Caleb hated hospitals. "He's good, kid. Your daddy always was a bleeder, and he bitches worse than Bobby."

"I prefer to keep my body from ending up like a patchwork quilt." Mackland snapped. "Your twelve-year-old son has a more skilled hand at suturing than you do."

"You're just sore Esme isn't here to kiss it and make it better this time." Winchester placed the last piece of tape over the bandage and slapped Ames on the stomach. "I don't have time for fancy in the field, Mac. You can have one of your plastic surgeon friends fix you up later." John tossed the bloody supplies in the trash and glanced to Caleb. "Where's Dean?"

The psychic frowned. "He's in with Sammy."

"How is he?" Mackland pulled his shirt down, wincing as the new stitches pulled. "That room Marcus had him in was horrifying."

Reaves nodded. "Yeah. I got as much."

"He'll be fine." John stood, ignoring the twin looks of doubt cast in his direction. "Because Sam needs him to be fine," he explained.

Any other time Caleb would have called bullshit on John's twisted logic, and he was surprised when Mackland didn't do it for him. His father didn't even start one of his psycho-babble lectures about how Dean would need to talk about the trauma. Instead, they both remained quiet. John Winchester knew his oldest son, and whether it was right or wrong, Dean would do what needed to be done to protect his brother. For once it might be a saving grace.

Dean quietly opened the door to the bedroom, finding his brother not in front of the small television but staring out the darkened window on the far side of the wall.

"Hey, Sammy."

The kid whirled around, a look of relief crossed his young features. "Dean!" Sam darted around the large bed, nearly tackling the older boy. "You're alive."

"Of course." The twelve-year-old returned the exuberant embrace seeking momentary solace for himself. "Nothing can hurt Captain Onehelluva Big Brother."

Sam continued to hold on to him as if he might vanish if he dared to loosen his fierce grip. "Are you okay? Daddy promised me you were, but when you didn't come…"

"I'm good. I had to take care of some things."

The seven-year-old pulled back, keeping one hand wound tightly in his brother's shirt. "You don't look good. You've got blood on you."

Dean sighed as the younger boy picked out the few spots Caleb wasn't able to scrub off. "It's not mine."

A myriad of emotion swam through Sam's dark eyes. "Peter?"

The older Winchester easily recognized the flash of fear, like lightening racing across a black sky over choppy waters. "Peter isn't coming back."

Sam frowned. "But he wasn't a ghost or monster. Where did he go?"

Dean moved towards the bed, pulling his little brother along with him. "He was a monster, Sammy. Just not the kind that we're used to." Dean sat down and Sam climbed up beside him. "He's going to the same place we send spirits."

Sam looked like he often did when he would bring home less than perfect papers from school "I thought he was nice."

Dean hated to see the small hint of guilt and self doubt on his brother's face. He wouldn't allow it. "It's not your fault, Sam. He was really good at fooling people. I believed him too."

Sam nodded, accepting what his brother was saying. Just like when his brother would brag on his papers, no matter what the mark. "Why did he want to hurt you, Dean? Did Mr. Conner tell him to?"

Dean sighed. As much as he wanted to blame Conner, it appeared the man was as clueless as the rest of them. "No, Sammy. Charles didn't know about Marcus. He would never have let him get near you if he had."

"Then why did Peter do it?" Despite the things Sam had seen, his family had worked hard to shield him from the atrocities the real world held. In that way, he was as innocent as any other little boy.

"He was sick." Dean pointed to his own head. "Up here. He was all mixed up and didn't know right from wrong."

The seven-year-old seemed to ponder that, then nodded knowingly. "Like Cruella Deville and The Joker?"

Dean smiled, taking some comfort in the fact his little brother could still see things in 'kid vision'-compare the really evil guys to the likes of comic book and cartoon villains. "Yeah. Like all those bad guys."

Sam scooted closer to the older boy, reaching up to touch the outline of dark bruises on his brother's throat. "Did he do that?"

"Yeah."

"That's why you're talking funny?"

"Yeah."

"Like the other night?"

Sam was watching him now, gauging him in the way he did when he wanted to see if Dean was being completely truthful. "The night I came to see you I had a run in with Peter when I left. We didn't know who it was then. But I should have told you. I didn't want you to worry."

"Jim says we should never lie if we can help it. Especially to each other."

Sam had the gift of shame. Dean had seen him even guilt Caleb into a heartfelt apology. "I know. It was wrong. Will you forgive me?"

Luckily, his brother's ability to forgive and forget were as notorious as his ability to call seasoned hunters to the carpet. "Okay."

Dean threw an arm over his shoulder. "How about you, little brother? Are you okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. But I don't want you to leave again. Bad things happen when we're not together." The little boy buried closer. "I get really scared."

The twelve-year-old squeezed him tighter. "Me too."

"Boys?" The deep voice of their father had both Sam and Dean jumping slightly, their gazes going to the doorway.

John moved into the room, taking a seat on the bed near his sons. "You two hanging in there?"

"Yes, sir." Dean replied automatically.

Sam let go of his brother and crawled into his father's lap, one arm going around his neck. "Can I go home with you, Daddy?" Sam twirled his fingers around his father's hair, a comforting motion he hadn't done in a couple of years. "Dean needs me. He'll have nightmares without me."

John reached up and pushed his little boy's too long bangs away from his face. "We'll try Sammy. I promise."

"We can take him." Dean spoke up, softly. "Conner is outnumbered." They were already getting rid of Peter. Why not add Charles to the list? How hard would it be?

"Dean…"

"Johnathan." Mackland appeared in the doorway, unknowingly sparing his friend a tiresome battle. "We need to go. Joshua and Bobby have everything ready. Jim is on his way up."

John stood, scooping Sam up in his arms. "Let's go boys."

Caleb and Pastor Jim were standing near the door when they made their way to the living room. Manuela and Conner resided by the couch.

The minister smiled at Sam. "There's my boy."

John set the seven-year-old down and Sam rushed the pastor, who greeted him with a warm hug. "I have something of yours, Samuel."

The boy lifted his head from Murphy's chest and looked at Jim's outstretched hand. "Astorim." He fisted his fingers around the silver dragon, a smile lighting his face. "I thought I'd lost him forever."

Jim slid his fingers over the boy's hair and winked. "The dragons are never far from sight, my boy."

Charles cleared his throat. "I think it's time you all take your leave." Conner seemed to have regained a modicum of his air of superiority. "Don't you have issues to take care of concerning this incident?"

"I explained to you that I would handle things with Marcus." Mackland met the businessman's gaze. "I have contacts at the FBI. If I'm correct about your private hanger, then they should find all the evidence they need there." The doctor had questioned Charles about a connection to planes that Peter might have had, still feeling that the flashes from his earlier vision were important. Conner had explained how Peter was not only his assistant, but a licensed pilot also, allowing the businessman the luxury to travel at will.

"As long as I am not implicated in any way. I had no idea what the man was capable of."

"Funny how monsters can walk around right in front of us, isn't it?" Jim said, solemnly. "Sometimes it is extremely hard to tell the good guys from the bad ones. Lucky for those blessedly ignorant souls that there are diligent heroes fighting the good fight."

"I suppose." Conner brushed away the comment as well as the subtle sentiment. "We should go also, Samuel."

"No." The little boy turned on his grandfather. "I'm going home with Dean." To prove his point, Sam ran to Dean's side, clutching the older boy's arm.

"Nothing has changed." Charles met the child's gaze and shook his head disapprovingly. "Your home is with me now."

John felt Dean lean in closer to him. "He needs to come with us, Charles. He should be with his brother, especially after what happened tonight."

"No." Conner frowned. "I won't allow it. You'll run the first chance you get."

"If I was going to run, what the hell would stop me from taking him now?"

Charles took a step back as if he suddenly feared an attack. "I still have the files. If anything happens to me…"

"Forget the files!" John bellowed and Sam clung tighter to his brother. "This is about the boys. I'm just asking for a fucking night."

"No." Conner said again. "They have to learn that that this is the way things are."

"I need to go with Dean!" Sam begged. "He'll be scared without me. I told you before that something bad was going to happen." The child yelled at his grandfather. "But you didn't believe me and Dean got hurt."

"I'll stay here." Dean offered, not wanting to see his brother upset anymore. All eyes went to him. John started to speak, but Conner beat him to it.

"No. I'm sorry." Charles shook his head. "That's not an option."

Dean felt his brother trembling beside him and he swallowed his pride. "Please."

Conner met the oldest boy's pleading gaze and sighed. "We've had this conversation before…"

"The one where you told him he wasn't good enough to be your grandson?" Caleb snapped, breaking the gag order his father had placed on him. He started forward after the man, but Jim caught his arm. "You don't know anything about him." The psychic growled, satisfied with thrusting a finger in the man's direction. "But I know about you."

"You don't know anything about me." Charles turned to John. "You all should go before I change my mind and call the police."

"No!" Sam howled. "Please don't go, Dean!"

"Sammy…" Dean choked, feeling his heart being ripped out for the second time in so many days. "It's okay."

"No…no…no…" Sam chanted, and John knelt in front of the boy.

"Sam. Stop! Now!"

The boy quieted, his little body continuing to jerk with each stifled sob. "Please." He whispered.

John continued to stare unflinchingly. "Stop crying. You're going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Understand me?"

The child nodded, but leaned into his brother once more. Dean slid his arm back around Sam's quaking shoulders. "Shh, Sammy. It's okay."

"Jim?" Caleb looked at the pastor. "Don't tell me you're going to let him stay here unprotected."

"Manuela will stay." Jim met Conner's challenging gaze. "That's not up for debate. Until I am one hundred percent sure the danger has passed, neither you nor the boy should be alone."

"Fine," Conner relented, begrudgingly. "The woman stays. For now."

"That's bullshit!" Caleb shouted. "Why not let Dean stay. I'll stay with him. There's no fucking difference."

"Your kind is not staying in my home," Conner countered, heatedly.

"My kind?" Caleb moved towards Charles again and this time Jim didn't stop him. He got in the man's face. "Is that why you sent your daughter away?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Reaves lowered his voice. "I told you I knew about you." And the psychic did. He had read everyone of the man's thoughts, knew his fears. "You didn't listen to your own daughter. Mary tried to tell you about the car crash that would kill your wife. You lost them both." Caleb felt only a moment of guilt when the man's face paled, his hands trembled. "If anything happens to Sam or Dean, you'll have to deal with more than a guilty conscious."

"Caleb." Mackland called his son off. "That's quite enough." Ames stared at his son and brought Reaves's line of sight to the boys and John.

Caleb regretted making the private statement in front of the Winchesters. He gave a curt nod and bent down in front of Dean and Sam. "Hey, Sammy, what if I promise to watch over Dean for you?"

"You'll make sure he doesn't have any nightmares?" The seven-year-old sniffed.

"Promise." Caleb vowed, though he wondered how it would be possible.

Dean leaned into his brother, dropping his head so his cheek lay on Sam's head. "I won't have any nightmares, Sammy."

Sam gave his brother another hug. "I love you, Dean."

John placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. He didn't want to have to pry the boys apart. Dean broke the embrace. "Don't forget the dragons, Sammy. Don't ever forget about them."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Wow everyone. Thanks so much for all the kind reviews. And to all those who wanted to track down Conner, hire bounty hunters to kill him, and pretty much salt and burn the guy…I hope you will be okay with this part. I promise it is coming to an end. Not The Brotherhood, as someone had feared, just this little story. Thanks to Tidia for helping me make this better. And for everyone who writes with such inspiring comments.

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnRcJ

The phoenix bird is said to regenerate when hurt or injured by a foe-thus being almost invincible and immortal. It is a symbol of fire and divinity.

Tears from the phoenix can heal the severest of wounds.

"_**Hope begins in the dark." - Anne Lammot**_

Despite feeling the heat of the flames on his face, Dean sensed the darkness. It curled around him, promising pain and loss, trying to squeeze out any trace of comfort. The hiss of the fire beckoned, calling him back from the place where his worst fears were realized time and time again in the shadowy form of dreams.

Nightmares awaited him if he gave into the pull of much needed sleep. Dean knew how it would go. He had already screamed himself awake from two previous scenarios. Still, betrayed by his body and Joshua's tea, he unwillingly entered the unknown garden again.

The grounds were overrun by Emma's roses. The cloying smell was overpowering, sickening, not pleasant. He wanted so badly to turn around and run. Dean prayed for someone to come and get him, but it was too late. There was no one here but his demons.

In a breath, he was magically propelled forward. The crumpled crimson flowers at his feet matched the water in the two flowing pools in the center of the garden where he now stood frozen.

Cement dragons were bursting forth from each fountain, jutting towards the star-filled sky. Their wings were spread, massive heads thrust upwards in fierce snarls. Blood, not fire, spewed from their snouts, splattering on Dean's skin like hot rain, soaking through his clothes, stinging like acid. Sam and Caleb lay, half submerged in the viscous liquid, their eyes vacant and staring.

"_You're all alone, Dean."_ The wind howled.

"No." Dean shook his head, trying to look away, trying to shrink back. "Please."

"_They're dead because of you. You failed."_

The stone guardians began to shake and tremble, their cement scales shedding and falling over Sam and Caleb's slain forms. Water lapped at edge of the fountains, splashing out on the flowers, soaking Dean's bare feet.

"_Death comes for you, but finds those you love." _

"That's not true."

The dragon's wings were torn asunder by the force, crashing into the fountain under the assault. A roaring filled Dean's ears and he wondered if the magical beasts were protesting their destruction. Then a warmth embraced him and the stone figures were consumed by a bright blaze.

Fire enveloped the fountains, taking what was left of the dilapidated dragon statues. Then the flames merged, forming a huge bird. Its blazing orange and yellow plumage spread protectively over Sam and Caleb's bodies, blocking Dean's view.

The Phoenix was there, glowing bright red in the darkness. It lifted it's head and called out.

Dean awoke with a gasp.

"Easy." Caleb said, catching the kid before he could slip from the couch. "It's okay."

"Caleb?" Dean choked, looking wildly around the library. He heaved a relieved breath as he no longer smelled roses and death. He had just sat down for a moment, resting after Joshua rewrapped his knee. Dean hadn't meant to fall asleep, already making that mistake on the ride home and paying a price for it. "You were suppose to keep me awake," he said accusingly, and was too spent to feel bad when Caleb flashed him a guilty look.

Reaves sat on the edge of the heavy wooden coffee table, but kept his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I just stepped out to check on Dad. But Deuce, buddy, you can't stay awake forever."

Dean was awake being checked over by Joshua when Caleb had gone to see if his father was settled for the night. It was so late when they made it to the farm, Jim had let Joshua take over the basic medical care of the rag-tag group at least until morning. Mackland didn't like it very much, but he wasn't in the best shape to protest. Sawyer on the other hand had loved it.

Caleb came back only a few moments later to find that Dean had drifted off. The twelve-year-old needed the rest and it was tempting to let him be, but the nightmare had started soon after.

Reaves had reached for Dean just as the world inside Dean's traumatized psyche began to shake. He was cast into the morbid garden alongside the boy. But where Dean was held captive, Caleb was free to enforce his own will on the boy's trickster of a subconscious, bending it to serve his own purpose of rescuing Dean.

"The phoenix…" Dean swallowed thickly, rubbing at his burning throat. He glanced towards the leaping flames of the massive stone fireplace in front of them. "You brought it…"

Caleb squeezed his shoulder. "Red firebirds kick ass." He forced a smile. "But no more horror flicks for you, Deuce. You're freaky imagination is way too vivid."

The boy's eyes watered, his breath hitched. "I'm so tired, Damien."

It wasn't the reaction Caleb expected and he was momentarily caught off guard. Dean's face was drawn and dark smudges underlined his eyes. The bruises stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin, and Reaves once again thought the boy looked like an extra from a movie-this time one of those end of the world flicks.

"I can't stay awake with that stupid tea Joshua gave me…" Dean continued, his gaze turned pleading. "Just make it go away. Please."

"Dean…"

"Can't you block out my dreams or something? Shut everything down?"

Reaves exhaled, heavily. "It doesn't work that way, kid." He wished it did. Caleb would do it in a heartbeat. "I can plant suggestions, but with all you've been through…"

"I'm screwed up," Dean finished for him. The boy looked defeated and resigned to his fate. "It's okay."

Reaves ran a hand over his hair. "Try the sleeping thing again, okay? You'll feel better if you get some rest. Trust me. I'll stand guard this time. I promise."

"I'm not a baby." Dean shook his head, pulling back. Some of the normal fire ignited in his hazel gaze. "I don't need you to hold my hand like I'm six again." He croaked, his voice still raw and ragged.

Caleb moved to the couch, with a huff. "I didn't say you were, tough guy." He motioned for the boy to move over and he sat down, throwing an arm over the kid's shoulder. "But I made a promise to Sammy. You wouldn't want me to break it, would you?"

After a moment, Dean shook his head. He relaxed back on the cushions, leaning slightly against the older hunter. "No. I promised too."

"Then it's settled. You play the part of Sleeping Beauty and I'll be Prince Charming."

Dean snorted. "More like one of the seven dwarves."

"Cute."

They settled in companionable silence for a few moments, the pop and crackle of the fire filling the darkened room. In the background the sounds of faint classical music could be heard coming from Jim's room. Dean wasn't the only one dealing with the events of the last twenty-four hours.

"Hey, Caleb?"

"Yeah?" Reaves mumbled, continuing to watch the dancing flames. He dug deeper in the sofa, shifting to prop his feet on the coffee table. Jim would bust him on it, but what the pastor didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"What did you mean about my mom?"

The psychic felt his heart skip a beat, his stomach clenching. "Your mom?"

"You said Conner sent her away…that she tried to tell him something about his wife?"

"Yeah, well I was pissed. And you know how my mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes."

It was true. Caleb hadn't meant to blurt it out the way he had. When he first picked up on the man's thoughts, he meant to keep quiet-perhaps to use the information against him later. If Mary were psychic, if she had premonitions, a lot of things about Sam would make sense.

Dean turned his head to look up at him. "Was she like you?"

Reaves shrugged. "Maybe."

The boy frowned. "Is that why the demon killed her?"

Sometimes the boy was too smart for his own good. Caleb mentally cursed himself for opening the proverbial Pandora's box. "I don't have those answers, Deuce." No one did but the hell-spawn bastard who had ruined all their lives.

Dean watched him, unblinkingly. "How did Sam know I was in that room?"

Caleb sighed, let his head fall back against the couch cushions. "I thought you were _really_ tired."

"Will the demon come after Sammy if he thinks he's like my mom?"

Caleb lifted his head, staring hard at the boy. He was not going to be the reason Dean had one more thing on his plate to worry about-one more thing to protect his little brother from. "Nothing is coming after Sammy. Got it? And your mom could have merely been sensitive. A lot of people have feelings when someone they love is in danger. That's why Sam felt you were in that room."

Dean didn't say anything for a long moment, but then he nodded. "Sammy is pretty girly."

Caleb's mouth twitched. "Totally. He's always telling us how he feels and pouting when he doesn't get his way."

The twelve-year-old rested back beside the older hunter. "Kind of reminds me of you. Maybe he is psychic."

Reaves snorted. "Nah, he's all Winchester."

"I hope it stays that way." Dean's voice had grown quiet again, gone was any trace of the teasing quality from before.

"He's your brother, Deuce. Nothing is going to change that. No one can take that away from you-from either of you."

Once again crackling and popping with a backdrop of Beethoven were the only noises in the room, and Caleb wondered if Dean had finally given in to the trauma and herbs from Joshua's tea. But then the twelve-year-old shifted against him, burying closer.

"Goodnight, Damien," Dean whispered.

Caleb felt the warmth of the fire, the glow of the flames offering a slight reprieve from the darkness that the light of dawn might bring. "'night, Deuce."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsRcJ

It was nearly morning, the first hint of the light of day coloring the large windows of his bedroom. Conner awoke from his fitful doze, needing to stretch his legs-wanting to clear his mind. Even in slumber dark memories and troubling thoughts had found him.

He hadn't dreamed of his wife or daughter in years. Tonight he had encountered both. They were as beautiful and whole as they had been before death, yet both appeared so sad-so disappointed. That was nothing new. Charles had a knack for creating that sentiment in those he cared for most.

Samuel had been very disappointed in him when he ordered the child to his room after his father and brother left. The boy was stubborn like his father; a trait Conner hoped had not been inherited. He speculated at the other distasteful characteristics strung through the boy's DNA helix. And what of Mary's influence?

He wonderd at the child's words concerning his brother. Samuel had been adamant about his feelings. Mary had used almost the exact same words when she begged her father to call her mother. '_I have a bad feeling, Daddy? I dreamed what was going to happen.' _

Conner shook his head, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Coffee would wash away the nonsense. Or at least give him strength to once again wage war with the seven-year-old.

He faltered slightly as he passed his grandson's room, the faint sounds of an unknown melody calling to him. The tune, despite the hard rock quality was hauntingly beautiful. Conner pushed the door slightly ajar.

Sam wasn't in bed and Charles felt a hard tug from his soul-the place where he buried all feelings of hope and happiness. He preferred to feel nothing, a dark void, because with joy came pain. "Samuel?"

The seven-year-old emerged from around the door, all sleepy-eyed and rumpled. He was wearing a pair of worn Chip-n-Dale Rescue Rangers pajamas, even though Conner had ordered Manuela to purchase new sleeping attire. "Yes, sir?"

"What are you doing up?" Conner stepped into the room with a frustrated sound. "You should be asleep."

Sam shrugged, moving back to the corner where the stereo Conner had purchased for him sat. "I'm not tired." He yawned.

Charles sighed, his hands going to his hips. The boy was not looking at him, obviously still upset. "Yes. I can see that."

Sam crawled into the large chair near his dresser. On top of the bureau the boy had arranged several shoe boxes. Five dragons stood sentry by some hand-made cut-out trees and a cereal-bowl of full of what appeared to be blue Koolaid.

"Is that a castle?" Charles shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe and watched as the child continued to do his best to ignore him.

The seven-year-old shook his head. "It's Pastor Jim's farm." He pointed to the bowl, picking up Athewm and skirting him across the water. "That's the pond where me and Dean go fishing."

For all of John Winchester's flaws, the man had taught his children to respect their elders. Sam was polite most of the time, even when it was obvious he did not want to be. "I took your mother fishing once. She was not a bit squeamish. I didn't even have to bait her hook for her." Conner rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Mary was always brave. I'm sorry you did not get to know her."

"I know things about her." Sam looked up at him. "Dean told me."

"I see."

The seven year-old began to list them, as if he had picked up the hint of disbelief in his grandfather's voice. "She liked to tell jokes and she laughed a lot. It sounded like the wind chimes on Pastor Jim's porch. She sang to me when I couldn't sleep. Dean does that sometimes, too. She smelled like daisies and sunshine and she loved the Boston Red Sox and anybody who beat the Yankees."

"That's quite a list of things." Conner felt his eyes sting, and quickly cleared his throat of the huge lump. "What else did your brother tell you?"

Sam set the dragon down, taking on a faraway look as if he were about to share an important story he had memorized. "She liked Daddy's car, rock music, and birds. Her and Dean used to collect feathers. She wasn't a very good cook. Dean said Daddy used to say she could burn water and they had to soak her peanut butter cookies in milk before they could eat them." A faint smile revealed Sam's dimples. "But Dean says they were the best cookies in the whole wide world. Pastor Jim makes peanut butter cookies for Dean every year on his birthday. But he doesn't burn them."

Conner nodded. There were so many things he had forgotten. Mary's mother was never the culinary expert either. "I'm quite sure your mother did not get to your father's heart through his stomach."

"No." Sam shook his head. "Through his eyes. Daddy told us it was love at first sight."

Charles swallowed thickly. "Yes. Mary was quite lovely."

Sam picked up Athewm again and began a fake battle with Belac. "Dean looks like her. Everybody says so. I look like my daddy. Bobby says I didn't even fall off the tree limb. But I'm not sure what that means."

"You do look like your father." Conner tilted his head to study the little boy more closely. He was a beautiful child, but undeniably John's, down to the dimples. "But you remind me of Mary." Charles pointed towards the toys. "She loved her stories also. She was always spinning fairytales about one princess or another. But instead of dragons there were horses, ones with wings and those with horns. Lots and lots of horses."

"I like horses, too." Sam glanced up at his grandfather. "Jim lets me ride Fat Chance and A-Millo. They used to be racing horses, but Jim rescued them."

"Oh, I wouldn't let your mother have a horse. They were far too dangerous." There had been so many things Charles had tried to protect his daughter from-John Winchester being the biggest threat.

"I'm not afraid. I can ride fast. But Dean doesn't let go of the lead. He worries, too."

"I bet not a lot scares you, though. You're brave like your mother. I'm sure you keep your brother on his toes."

Sam returned to the dragons, his shoulders slumping. "I'm scared about Dean," he said softly.

Charles pretended not to notice the boy deflate. "He seems very capable." It was true. Most children who endured what his oldest grandson experienced would have been catatonic. But Dean seemed completely in control.

"He wants everyone to think that he's tough. But I know him." Sam traced his fingers over Athewm's shiny green scales. "He has lots of armor but the biggest part of him is all mushy like a dragon's underbelly."

Conner knelt down beside the child. "Samuel, how did you know your brother was in that room?"

The seven-year-old shrugged. "I told you. I felt him."

"Felt him?" Charles's frown deepened. "How do you mean?"

"I just knew. Mac says I have to trust things I just know. Caleb calls it listening to your gut."

Conner didn't want to continue this line of questioning, but he had to know. "Caleb is different?"

"He's a hero." Sam's chin jutted, defiantly. "Like my daddy and Bobby and Mac."

Charles nodded, hoping to gain his grandson's trust, instead of garnering his wrath. "He knows things? Like you just know things."

Sam's brow furrowed. "I guess, but I don't see movies in my head. Not when I'm awake."

"But you have dreams. Don't you? Nightmares?" Mary had them. The one about her mother was not the first. Charles had discouraged his wife from talking about them. He brushed away her concerns about her own mother, who she claimed had been endowed with special abilities. After all, the woman had ended up in a mental institution. "Do they come true?"

"I don't always remember them."

It was the same with Mary. Night terrors plagued her. But it wasn't until she was older she began talking about them. "Does Ames talk to you about these feelings you have?"

"Mac teaches me things." Sam pointed to a stack of books. "I learn a new word every day."

That wasn't what Conner wanted to know. He knew Ames did research into such ridiculous things as psychic ability. The man even tarnished his reputation by working with police in finding missing persons. In some circles he had become little more than a joke. "But does he talk to you about things you might do with your mind besides learn things?"

"Yes." Sam nodded. "He tells me not to shrink my brain cells by watching inane television shows like Caleb and Dean do. Oh and to never, ever do drugs because that fries your brain, too."

Conner sighed. "But what of this Brotherhood?"

Sam turned away from his grandfather, returned to playing with his toys. He had been taught not to talk about what his family did. What their friends did. It was one of the first rules he learned, right along with never putting his finger in light sockets or putting small objects in his mouth or up his nose. "I think I'm going to sleep now." He got down from the chair and started for the bed. "I'm tired."

Charles watched him go, pushed himself back to standing. He moved sluggishly across the room to stand by the boy who already had his eyes closed. "Samuel?"

"Yes?" Sam reluctantly looked up at him.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

The little boy didn't hesitate. "A dragon."

RcJsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsRcJ

Jim moved quietly through the library, glancing towards the couch where Caleb and Dean were sleeping. The older boy was slumped in the corner, a book resting over his chest and Dean was sprawled, his legs thrown haphazardly across Caleb's lap.

The pastor frowned. Neither looked very comfortable, but he supposed some sleep whether sound or not, was better than none at all. Honestly, he was quite thrilled and relieved either could find momentary solace. Peace had escaped him and after checking on Mackland he decided to try and get some work done.

Upon reaching The HuntersTomb, it became obviously clear he wasn't the only one suffering from insomnia. Light shone from the small crack between the false bookshelf and the opening leading into the room. The sounds of some old Allman Brothers song played in the background.

With a faint smile Jim slipped through the space pulling the heavy door closed behind him so not to disturb the boys. "Must you resort to hiding in here when you want to listen to your music now? It's almost like when Caleb went through that horrible punk/metal stage and I constantly sent him to the barn to save my sanity."

Scout came tearing out from beneath the table at the sound of Jim's voice and Atticus lifted his head in greeting from one of the overstuffed chairs. John looked up from the pile of papers he was studying. "It's disturbing that you know what punk is Jim."

"I try to keep in the know." The pastor nodded to the work piled on the table. "Is that your attempt to do the same?"

Winchester slid a hand over his bearded face. "No. I just needed something to keep my mind occupied and off all the 'could have been' scenarios." He jutted his chin towards the door where Dean and Caleb slept. "And I wanted to be close just in case."

Jim bent down to scoop up the wiggling puppy, holding the baby close to his chest. It was reassuring to embrace something so alive-so fresh from God. It reminded him of Sam. "I take it you and Bobby handled Mr. Marcus's tragic accident."

John put down the pen he was holding. "We salted the body before giving him a fiery send off in Conner's rented limousine over that bitch of a cliff down in Potter's Gap. Bobby wanted to put a stake through his heart just to be on the safe side but I told him it was overkill."

"And you're sure that nothing will be left of the body for a telling autopsy?"

Winchester sighed at The Guardian's questioning. He was tired and the casual inquiry was sounding like an inquisition. "I know what I'm doing Jim. I know how to make a death look accidental or suicidal. I used the right incendiary for the job-untraceable. Nothing substantial of that bastard will survive that blaze."

"And Joshua handled the suicide note?"

"Yes." John leaned back in his chair, popping his back as he did. "Peter confessed to everything in writing thanks to our personal forgery expert. Mackland is sure the evidence at Marcus's hotel room and the private air hanger will close the case. Hopefully the authorities will be able to find the other missing bodies with a little help from Mac, once he's back on his feet."

Jim set Scout on the floor and the Lab curled herself around John's feet, resting her small head on one giant boot with a contented sigh. "Good. I could not imagine letting those families suffer without some knowledge of what became of their boys. Or without feeling that some small bit of justice had been doled out."

"I don't know what good it will do them." John glanced up at the older man. "Their children are still dead, Jim." Nothing could ever make that right-ease that pain.

Murphy moved to the dark wooden bookcase near the back of the room. Its shelves were filled with journals from previous hunters, those long gone, their spirits still alive in each new hunt. He ran his fingers over the well-worn spines. "It's important to know the fate of those we love. Even if tragic, their end leaves record they were real." He glanced to John. "To not know the how or why of someone's death is sometimes as torturous as their actual absence."

"If you say so." John returned to his books, unwilling to go where Jim's words were leading him. "They're still gone. But at least the bastard who took them is in hell where he belongs. Maybe that will give them some sort of comfort."

Jim took the seat beside him. "I can't say that I'm sorry for Peter Marcus's death, although I wish we could have handled things differently."

"You mean you wish you hadn't been forced to kill him?"

"No." Jim answered quickly, surprising John with the matter of fact tone. "I had no problem with killing him. He was a child murderer-a monster who preyed on all that is innocent in our world. I only wish Dean had not fallen into his hands in the first place or been made to witness the man's death. He's seen far too much for his short years. Sometimes I worry what it will do to him."

"Dean's strong, Jim. He'll be fine."

Murphy sighed as again. John seemed to take his words personally. The pastor was reminded of the minefield any discussion with Winchester or his protégé could become. He ran a thumb over his silver ring. "We all count on him to be fine." The pastor met John's gaze. "I fear I might have misjudged the effect of Samuel's temporary fate on all the boys." It wasn't John that Jim was disappointed in this time. All the blame was focused inward. "I was wrong to let him take Sam from you-from Dean."

"You were trying to do what was best for everyone." John pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily. It had taken some time and he still didn't like it, but he couldn't blame Jim for not siding with him. "I was pissed as hell at first, but I never thought you would feed Sam to the lions. Still don't. You're The Guardian."

Murphy nodded solemnly. "I am."

And after all, John was the one who signed on for the whole Brotherhood deal. He wanted to be trained; he needed guidance to find vengeance for his wife. In all fairness he didn't quite understand it all, was still in shock from the loss of Mary. But maybe on some level he had known even then that part of the penance would call for the sacrifice of his children. John preferred to believe he knew the powerful men he would come to call brothers would offer protection to his boys-give them a life he couldn't guarantee. Unfortunately, sometimes it was hard to believe the best of himself. "I don't blame you, Jim."

"I love those boys, John." The pastor said firmly as if he could somehow sense the other's morose thoughts. "I could not feel more for them if they had been born to Emma. I have only their best interests at heart."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Jim leaned back in the chair. "Because sometimes I believe all this talk of the coming battle, the preparation of the future Triad, and the parts we all must play shadow those important things like love, family, and loyalty. Fear, hate, vengeance, and desperation make quick and easy work of blinding us."

John's mouth twitched at the fiery tone his friend's voice. He picked up the glass decanter of amber liquid in front of him and topped off his barely touched glass of whiskey. "If you're going to launch into a sermon, Jim, I'm getting shit-faced first."

Murphy rolled his eyes. "It is no mystery where Caleb gets his talent for redirection and avoidance. I can barely talk to the boy on a serious level anymore."

John snorted and tossed back a quick shot, relishing in the burning sensation as it trailed down his throat to slosh in his empty gut. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. "If you wanted the boy to spout philosophy and morality to you, Jim, you should have let his daddy train him."

"And have him miss learning to flawlessly quote Sun Tzu and the Jar Head survival hand book?" Jim shook his head. "What kind of Knight would he be then?"

John poured a shot in his glass again, shoving it towards Murphy. "He's going to be the best damn Knight The Brotherhood has seen. Better than me, better than Elkins could have ever been." He met Jim's gaze. "Better than any blood heir of Maxim Madrigal."

Jim took the offered drink and smiled sadly. "Daniel Elkins was not always the man we know now, John. Julian was pressed for time in the end, but he made the best choices he could. There was no one else. The last Triad was caught with their pants down so to speak." Murphy lifted the glass and toasted it towards John. "And Joshua will have a part to play in things to come, but he was not right to follow in his grandfather's footsteps. Julian would have thought the same and I have no doubt he would have been enamored with Caleb and his skill."

The pastor took a drink, wincing. His homemade beer was as hard core as he got these days and Tennessee's finest seemed anything but smooth to him. He shot Winchester a look, some of the familiar mischief dancing in his blue eyes this time. "Although, he might have frowned on a scoundrel such as you as Daniel's successor."

John attempted a look of reproach. "Because I don't have a family tree full of vampire hunters and werewolf killers? If you've forgotten, Mackland's pedigree is a whole hell of a lot more Puritan than mine. He's more Rhodes Scholar than Scholar of The Brotherhood. I think I would seem like a prize compared to him."

Murphy laughed. Perhaps past Triads were rolling over in their graves at the colorful array of men he had compiled. "I have always believed God to have a wonderful sense of humor."

"You seriously believe all this…" John gestured around the room. "Is some sort of clandestine ordained prophecy? Don't you?"

"I believe we were destined to meet, to be a part of one another's lives." Jim looked down to his silver ring once more, remembering the powerful words etched inside. "But I also hold true to the idea that we all made choices to bring us here. And that the next generation will be faced with even harder decisions. I only hope whatever path they travel leads to the greater good and ties them together, as it has done for us, old friend."

John took the glass once more, tossing back the remainder of the whiskey. He sighed. "They're good boys. All of them."

Jim raised a brow. "Even the blood heir of Maxim Madrigal?"

John rolled his eyes. Murphy liked to give him grief where Joshua was concerned. It might have worked if John hadn't been there when Caleb came back from his first hunt with Sawyer, Ian and Fisher. "It's not that side of his family tree that I have issues with."

Jim continued to stare at him for a moment longer, taking on one of his familiar fatherly expressions. John knew some story or parable from the past was about to resurface.

"Joshua helped me build this room. Did you know?"

John looked skeptical, slightly surprised at the revelation. "You don't say?"

Jim nodded. "He stayed here a few weeks one summer during the nastiest part of Harland and Esme's divorce. His mother thought he would enjoy some time away from all the fighting." Jim was sure that Esme had also preferred Jim's tutorage to that of Griffin Ellison.

"And did he?"

Jim laughed. "I think the boy would have rather had bamboo shoots lodged under his fingernails."

John snorted. "That sounds about right."

Murphy let his eyes travel around the room. "Although I think he enjoyed working on this project. It was the first time I saw a bit of his mother in him."

John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "He has a lot of his father in him, too. Sometimes you can't overlook the family tree, old man. Sense of humor and preordained destiny be damned."

Jim smiled. "I still have hope."

John was not easily swayed. "But you never saw him as The Knight. That says something."

"No." Murphy had to admit Joshua would never wield that kind of power in The Brotherhood. "Only two people have entered my thoughts for that position. And I believe I chose wisely between them."

John glanced toward the hidden door again. If his sons were to be involved in TheTriad, then he wanted someone he knew and trusted watching their backs. He wanted Caleb. "No argument from me."

Jim always touted the future was sill unclear, but he had eluded Sam and Dean had been brought into his life for a reason. Kismet, he called it. In the beginning it had sounded like a fairytale, as unreal as the dragon story Jim loved weaving. John had been able to ignore it.

But now as they grew older and Jim grew older, John often felt as if he were on a speeding train with no way to get off. At least Murphy had offered him a position where he had some effect on their futures. "I can't imagine anyone being better for the job than Junior."

Jim didn't miss the hint of pride in John's voice or the flash of emotion he couldn't quite read in the man's dark eyes. "You could tell him how you feel, you know. He has serious doubts about whether he is worthy for what you are training him for."

"Again, if you wanted him snuggled in warm fuzzies, Jim,…"

Murphy raised his hand in surrender, cutting Winchester off. "Forget that I mentioned such a thing as civilized conversation and well-deserved praise."

John didn't have to feign insult this time. "I treat him like my own boys. It's the only way I know."

Jim sighed as another mortar round exploded, cutting him off at the knees. _Tread carefully, old boy. _"Sometimes we have to step outside our comfort zones. There are moments when our first instinct might not be the best for the situation."

Winchester raised a brow. "Are we still talking about me?"

Perhaps Jim had bird walked, finding himself at the point where he had meant to begin in the first place. "I've spoken to Missouri and some of the senior members of The Brotherhood about the situation with Conner."

Winchester straightened in his chair unsure if he liked the idea of others knowing his business. He had good reason not to trust everyone who wore the ring. The kidnapping a few years back proved that. "You said you wanted The Triad to handle Charles."

Jim combed his fingers through his mass of silver hair. "Maybe I was wrong."

"What does that mean?" John leaned in closer; his voice lowering despite the fact the room was basically soundproof. "For Sammy?"

"It means that if Charles does not agree to our terms and return Samuel he will be dealt with-for the greater good."

John stared at the man before him. In the years since meeting Murphy he never failed to be surprised by the many layers the man could reveal. But cold and calculating was never a side that had even been hinted at. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Murphy's face reddened, showing a rare demonstration of his frustration. He was usually unflappable. "The man will not see reason. He allowed Caleb to be injured in front of Dean and Samuel. He denied his grandsons what they needed, choosing his own selfish desires over their best interests. And even though he apparently knew nothing about Peter Marcus, I cannot risk anyone else getting hurt because of his ignorance."

"But the Brotherhood deals with supernatural evil. We're in the business of protecting people, saving lives. Tonight with Marcus was an act of self defense."

Jim frowned as his own words were tossed back at him. It was usually the pastor's job to play devil's advocate. "You don't think I have worried and prayed over this situation for days? I see no other alternative, Johnathan, but aggression. You may have been correct when you said it was the only thing a man like Conner respects and understands."

John rubbed a hand over his bearded face, not quite sure how to assimilate this new side of his friend into the picture he held of him. "I didn't want to be right, Jim."

Murphy exhaled heavily. "I know." He forced a smile. "Maybe the morning will shed some much needed light on the situation."

John's mouth twitched at the more typical optimistic response. Jim had an eternal well of hope and faith; reserves Winchester hoped were never tapped. But, still, it was his job to keep him on his toes. "Or daybreak could bring swarms of locusts and news of a widespread plague."

"True." Jim laughed, whole-heartedly this time. "I did warn you that God has that wicked sense of humor."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Someone was laughing. The sound melodic and reassuring. Mackland felt the need to turn his head in hopes of determining who might be in the room with him. He had the fleeting thought he might have left the television on the night before, but then a familiar cadence rumbled through his subconscious and he groaned before he could stop himself.

"I think he's coming around, Doc!" Bobby barked, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small guest room.

Bright morning light from the many windows seared his corneas as Mackland tried to force his eyes to cooperate. He groaned again when pain rushed through his side from his attempt to roll over and escape Bobby.

Warm hands found his face then, halting his struggle. A hint of jasmine touched his nose and then something soft and silky tickled his face as it brushed over his cheek. He reached up to shove it away, his fingers curling around what he instantly recognized as hair. Without opening his eyes he smiled. "Esme."

Bobby hooted, nudging John's shoulder. "Esme!" He mimicked in an exaggerated sugary tone much to Joshua and Caleb's displeasure. "My dear Esme."

"You truly need to discourage him." Joshua snapped, shooting a glare in Caleb's direction. "This schoolboy crush is highly inappropriate and unfathomable considering my mother's irrefutable taste."

"You don't think my dad is good enough…" Caleb started, but another voice cut him off.

"Sorry to disappoint, Dr. Ames, but I'm not your Esme." Dr. Elizabeth McCroy leaned over her patient and frowned. "Whatever the hell an Esme is."

Mackland flinched as one of his eyelids was physically pried open and a pen light assaulted him. "What…wait…" He weakly batted at the unwanted touch.

"Dad?" Caleb moved towards the bed, hovered close by, but stayed out of the doctor's way. He had already been reprimanded by the fiery redhead when she examined Dean. The thorough cleaning she had given his own bullet wound made him wary to cross her again. "You with us?"

The welcomed voice of his son propelled Mackland the rest of way to consciousness, clearing some of the mental fog. He would most definitely have to study the contents of Joshua's tea more closely. "Caleb?"

"I'm here."

Before Ames could say more, hands were on him again, pulling up his shirt, searching his abdomen with deadly accuracy. "Ow!" He complained, glaring at the now familiar auburn-haired woman in the white coat leaning over him. It was the modern day Doctor Quinn Elizabeth McCroy and she was looking way too satisfied with herself. "Take it easy."

Elizabeth ignored him, continuing to poke around the wound on his side. "I must say whatever you used on this wound is quite amazing, Joshua. There are no signs of infection."

Sawyer stepped forward, studying the patient as if on a consult. "I can give you the ingredients. Dr. Ames doesn't see the benefit in holistic medicine, but I'm sure a physician of your stature is quite open-minded to a more Eastern philosophy."

"Wiccan philosophy is more like it," Caleb said under his breath, but Joshua still shot him a reproachful look. Reaves rolled his eyes, laying a hand on his father's shoulder. "You okay, Dad?"

"What's going on?" Mackland demanded, pushing himself to a seated position. He pulled the sheet away from McCroy and covered his exposed chest. "Why is she here?"

"Believe me, I'm here in an official capacity, six pack." The doctor roughly patted Ames muscled stomach. "Father Murphy called this morning explaining your little 'hunting' accident." Liz smirked at Ames. "Who knew the great Mackland Ames would be such a duck fanatic."

"Jim thought it would be a good idea for a real doctor to check over everyone." Caleb explained, tossing his own smirk at Joshua.

"Excuse me?" Mackland glared at John and Bobby, who were grinning like fools from the corner of the room.

"You can't really call him a duck hunting fanatic, Doc," Bobby spoke up, ignoring Mackland's demanding gaze. "First time Mac was in a blind. Stood up just as I was taking a shot from the other side of the pond."

"Funny this doesn't look like a wound from buckshot, Mr. Singer." Elizabeth countered. These men were pulling nothing over on her. "And was Caleb also in the same duck blind when you opened fire? And how exactly did poor Dean come about his injuries? Ducks must have become much more vicious than I remember them to be or was he also in a bad end of a bar room brawl."

It was the excuse the men had used when they brought Caleb to her ER in New Haven a few days earlier. Obviously there was more going on than any of the men were willing to speak about. Murphy had beseeched her not to report any of the injuries to the police, explaining how Dr. Ames was already bombarded by press and he didn't want the boys interrogated or hounded. Despite Jim Murphy's good reputation, it was the pleading look in young Dean Winchester's eyes that convinced her.

"You know boys." John stepped closer to the bed. He flashed the woman an easy smile which had a different kind of effect on her than his son's. "They roughhouse all the time. I warned them about it. Someone was bound to get hurt."

"Thank goodness there is a voice of reason." Elizabeth smiled at John and then flashed Mackland a disdainful look. "Young men need appropriate role models-not someone cold and irreproachable."

"Are you quite finished, _Doctor_?" Mackland groused. "I'll have Bobby fetch you some eggs from the hen house and a slab of ham for your troubles and you can go about your other house calls."

"Liz can't leave yet." John stepped forward, holding his arm out to the woman. He purposefully looked at Ames. "I believe I promised her a free meal if she ever visited."

Mackland looked at his best friend, quickly reading the amusement he was getting from the situation. John Winchester could be quite charming and vindictive when he wanted to. "Aren't you concerned with my prognosis?"

"I did those stitches myself. You're good." John looked at Elizabeth. "I was trained in field triage, so I'm sure they're not up to your standard. But they kept the idiot from bleeding to death."

"I'm sure nothing I could have done would have suited a living legend in the medical field either." The doctor stood, closing her bag. "Breakfast sounds lovely, though."

"Wait until you taste Jim's pancakes." John told her as he led the doctor out of the room. "They're mouthwatering."

Bobby leaned in the doorway, watching them go down the stairs leading to the kitchen. "Dr. McCroy is rather mouthwatering herself." He waggled his brows at Mackland. "If you fell off your high horse you might have noticed."

"Shut up." Ames growled, pushing blankets aside to throw his legs over the side of the bed. "I can't believe you two let Jim call someone-a colleague who knows me of all things."

Singer snorted. "I guess we could have had Josh call up Esme, but where would the fun in that been?"

"Would you please refrain from speaking my mother's name in that tone, Bobby?" Joshua asked.

"What tone?" The mechanic asked indignantly.

Sawyer waved a hand in the air. "That whispery tone like one might use when speaking of some ethereal movie star siren. It doesn't suit her."

"Shows what you know about women, Slick." Bobby grinned. "But aren't you trying to shame the wrong guy. Mac here is the one having naughty dreams about your mom."

"I was not…" Ames stuttered. "I woke up disoriented…there was a woman nearly on top of me…" Mac stopped speaking when all eyes fell to him.

A look of horror crossed Joshua's face. "You are not suggesting…"

"No!" Mackland cut him off. "I mean…I don't mean that Esme has ever been or will ever be on top of me." Ames held up his hands. "Not that the thought isn't appealing…I mean in a completely respectful, fellow vested party of The Brotherhood kind of way."

"You dream about a lot of The Brotherhood being on top of you, Mac?" Bobby started laughing. "Maybe I should call the lovely Elizabeth back up here to check to see if you hit your head on something."

"Maybe you should go downstairs before all the food gets gone, Bobby?" Caleb suggested. Any other time he might have enjoyed his father's discomfort, but after the fear he felt last night, he was willing to cut his dad a break. "You know Jim's second batch is never as good as the first."

"I get it." Bobby nodded. "You guys need some family time." Singer's gesture included Joshua in the mental picture he was framing for them. "I can't wait for the group Christmas card."

Joshua took a seat on the edge of the bed, his face pale, his hand holding his stomach. "I think I might be sick."

"Join the club." Caleb agreed, flashing his father a look. "Can you try to can the whole schoolboy crush thing, Dad? It's embarrassing."

Ames frowned, then glared at both boys. "My feelings-or lack there of-for Esme are none of your business." Joshua started to open his mouth but Mackland stopped him with a fierce look. "Go downstairs, Joshua."

"Fine." The blond hunter stood with a huff. "But my mother would never date anyone who wasn't completely open to the products she creates through her art."

"And my dad doesn't date witches." Caleb tossed back, sounding much more Dean's age than his own twenty years. "No matter how hot they might be."

"Shut up." Joshua snarled.

"Both of you shut up!" Mackland was afraid if he didn't soon call a stop to the sniping he would end up being caught under two strapping boys with first blood on their minds. "Save your energy for the pancakes. Jim's pancakes make everyone feel better."

"Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?" Caleb stared at his father. "People count on you everyday to fix their problems…and that's the best you got? Emotional eating?"

"My mother would have come up with a much better solution." Joshua was closer to the door, but not ready to leave the room just yet.

"By peering into her crystal ball, no doubt?"

"Boys!" Jim Murphy's voice wafted up the stairs. "Breakfast is ready!"

Joshua sent one final heated glare in Caleb's direction before spinning on his heel and starting downstairs.

"Joshua?"

Mac's voice halted him and the younger hunter stopped with a huff. "Yes?"

"Thank you," Ames said, sincerely. "I appreciate you taking care of everyone, myself included."

The blond nodded, a slight smile crossing his face. "Hold your praise until you see my bill, Dr. Ames. I'm quite expensive."

Reaves shook his head once Sawyer was gone. "Huh. Josh has a sense of humor after all?"

Mac frowned at his son. "You shouldn't say things about his mother. It isn't polite and I sincerely doubt you would take kindly to him returning the favor."

Caleb exhaled heavily, the reprimand causing him to feel slightly guilty. "I don't have anything against Esme, Dad. She's always been nice to me." He gestured towards the stairs. "But she has baggage."

"Baggage?" Mac raked a hand through his disheveled hair. "Son, I've not spoken to Esme in over a year. We're friends. That's it."

"Good. Because I'm too old for any kind of Brady Bunch scenario. I like being an only child and I prefer to keep your inheritance to myself." He grinned to hide the sincerity in his words. It wasn't the money he was unwilling to share.

Ames smiled. He was reassured by his son's jealous behavior. Sometimes it was nice to feel needed. "What happened to wanting John and the boys to come live with us?"

Caleb rolled his eyes. "I was fifteen and you wouldn't let me have a dog. They were the next best thing."

Mackland grinned, squeezing his son's shoulder. "Speaking of the boys, how's Dean?"

Caleb shrugged. "Dr. McCroy checked him out first thing this morning. She said he was okay."

"That's not what I meant."

"I don't know, Dad." Caleb swallowed thickly. "He won't really talk about it." He met his father's concerned gaze. "I'm afraid he's going to close himself off. From all of us."

Ames shook his head, a stubborn look crossing his face. "We won't let that happen, Son. I promise."

"Can you also promise that Joshua will never be my brother in any way shape or form except in the loose reference that applies where the rings are concerned?"

Mac laughed, wincing slightly as the sutures in his side pulled. "I think you're safe."

"Then I'll bring you some pancakes."

"Are you kidding? I'm coming with you. I want to watch Bobby make a fool out of himself in front of Dr. McCroy."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnssnsNRcJ_

"Thanks again, Liz, for your help." John Winchester told the doctor as he, Bobby and Jim walked the woman out. "It's appreciated."

"You're welcome." The doctor moved her gaze from Murphy to Singer. "The delicious breakfast was a more than adequate thank you. Although I hope you will come up with a better cover story the next time. A mugging would have been much more believable."

John shifted from foot to foot, shooting Jim a baleful glance, but the minister remained silent, his ever-present smile in place. "Yeah. Sorry about that," he said sincerely when it was obvious neither of his friends were going to help him out.

"Perhaps you can make it up to me next time you're in town." Liz reached out and squeezed Winchester's hand. "Dinner out."

"Maybe." John conceded, ducking his head slightly as Bobby made what sounded like a kissing noise behind him. It would never happen but the woman had gone out of her way. "I'm never in one place very long," he explained.

Elizabeth smiled knowingly, letting her fingers slip from John's skin. "Maybe I'll get lucky." She nodded to the others. "Tell Dr. Ames I expect to be hearing from him soon also."

"Mackland would make a much better dinner date." John told her, opening the car door. "He knows all the right forks to use."

The doctor shook her head. "No, I was thinking more along the line of a written correspondence from my colleague." Liz dropped into the seat of her sedan, sliding her sunglasses on. "Tell him to make the check out to the hospital. The plans for that new Radiology suite should be ready soon."

Winchester laughed. "Will do, Liz. Take care now." He patted the roof of the car, stepped back, and watched the car as it started down Murphy's drive. When he turned around, Bobby and Jim were both grinning at him. "What?"

"She likes you." Bobby shook his head. "I don't understand it because damn I made it clear I was single, but she definitely was giving you the vibe, Winchester."

"You make it sound like one of those miracles Jim is always preaching about just came to pass, Singer."

"In my book, it did." Bobby looked at Murphy. "What about you, Jim?"

"I think the woman obviously has good taste," Jim replied and John laughed.

"What does that mean?" Bobby grumbled. "You think John's a better catch than me?"

Murphy turned to start back to the house, the other two men trailed him when the sound of an approaching car stopped them. "Perhaps Dr. McCoy is coming back to rectify her mistake, Bobby." The pastor teased as he raised a hand to shield his eyes so as to see the car. "She has seen the error of her ways."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Singer looked down the drive, but frowned when he caught the flash of black. Liz's car had been silver. "Who the hell is that?"

John frowned as the dark car pulled into the drive and Manuela climbed out of the passenger's side. He was even more puzzled when the person in the driver's seat exited. "Conner."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnssnsNRcJ

a/n: Only one more chapter to go! Yeah! Then I will finish up Who Your Friends Are. Although I have a new little one shot coming up tomorrow, despite the lack of Alerts. For a little heads up, you might want to head over to The Hunters Tomb. If you go to the Brotherhood section, click on Griffin, and then go to his journal page and click on that…you get a little hint about the big plan! Our website is www(dot)thehunterstomb(dot)com. You can also find pictures of Esme and Harland Sawyer. We had fun figuring out who was gorgeous enough to create Joshua's incredible bone structure. Speaking of the hotness factor of the boys… Tara has done an amazingly delicious video. Sigh. It's better than chocolate. It can be found at

http(colon)(backslash)(backslash)www(dot)sendspace(dot)com(backslash)file(backslash)9n9ugc

scroll to the bottom and click on the folder Sexy thing. It's so worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

"_**The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise."**_

_**-Miquel de Cervantes Saavedra**_

"Conner?" John stepped forward as his former father-n-law removed his sunglasses and started around the front of the car. The dark voice residing in John's mind whispered nightmarish things-all the fears of a normal parent along with the ones of a man such as himself. "What's wrong? Is Sam okay?"

The hunter had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when the rear passenger door swung open and his seven-year-old son bounded out.

"Daddy!" Sam barreled towards his father, as if it had been weeks not merely hours since their last encounter. "I'm home!"

John caught him, unsure of what to make of the situation. "Hey, Sport." He breathed into the boy's ear, gave him a hard squeeze. He caught the scent of baby shampoo and soap and held tighter. "I missed you."

"Me too." Sam pulled back, flashing Jim and Bobby a wide grin. He wiggled in his father's arms until John put him down. "Hey Pastor Jim. Guess what? I'm home."

Jim knelt by the child, running a hand over his hair. "So I hear, my boy. It's about time. Things were not the same without you."

"Where's Dean? I can't wait to tell him the news. And I have a present for him."

"Whoa. Whoa." John kept a firm grasp on the wriggling child as he tried to dash towards the house. "What news? Tell me first, Sammy."

Sam looked at his father and Charles, still standing near the car with a guarded look on his serious face. "Mr. Conner says I should stay with you and Dean. He thinks I'm like Mom, and Mom belonged with us."

John frowned. "Is that true?"

"It is." Charles moved cautiously forward. "Sam seems to require a special amount of attention. I'm afraid at this point in my life I am not equipped to deal with that, nor do I have the resources on hand. I do however have this."

He held out a large briefcase which he handed to Jim. "The information I had gathered on your organization, Mr. Murphy," he explained. "Although interesting reading, I have no further use of it. Nor do I have a desire to have my name associated with the things you are involved with."

Sam was growing tired of the adult conversation and he tugged on his father's hand. "Can I go see Dean now, Daddy?"

Sam's impatient voice had John glancing at him once more, still unable to believe his youngest son was being returned to him. John smiled at the child. "Go on." His grin faded as he returned his gaze to Conner once the boy was gone. "You son of a bitch."

"Johnathan." Jim cautioned, slowly standing. "This is what we hoped for."

"No." Winchester shook his head angrily. "This is Charles doing exactly what he did to Mary." John took a step towards his wife's father. "What? Sam a disappointment to you already? You decide he was too much like his old man? Not worthy of being a Conner?"

"On the contrary." Charles huffed. "I realized he was a great deal like his mother."

John's brow drew up in puzzlement. "And that's a bad thing?"

"I'm not going to discuss my daughter with you." His past sins were his own. But he was determined not to repeat them. "I'm just saying that Sam has already become adapted to your way of life. We walk in two different worlds as you proved by murdering my assistant last evening. And I have yet to hear from my body guards. They've seemingly dropped from the face of the planet."

"Your _assistant_ who killed and raped little children." John jabbed a finger towards the businessman's chest. "Your _assistant_ who took your grandson, Mary's firstborn, and planned on adding him to his sick body count." His mouth twitched as he thought about the two apes who had worked Caleb over. "And your muscle will need to find new careers for a while. At least until they get back full use of their limbs."

Charles seemed to consider the information, a myriad of emotions crossing his lined face. He shrugged. "I have no problem with the death penalty for such heinous acts as those Peter committed. After all, I'm a Republican for Christ's sake."

"Figures." Bobby snorted. "The privileged are all for throwing the switch as long as someone else gets blood on their hands."

"I didn't come here to debate politics, Mr. Singer. I came to return Sam."

John clenched his fists. It was what he hoped for, but now it was almost anti-climactic. It pissed him off. He was itching for a fight. "So you ride in here disrupt my children's lives, hurt people we care about, and then walk away like it never happened."

"Would you rather the alternative? As Mr. Murphy pointed out…I thought this is what you wanted."

What John wanted was to strangle the sonofabitch. "You made me sign my son over to you! I had to break his brother's heart. For what? For you to exert some kind of control over the situation…for you to prove you could get your way?" John bit his lip, looked down at the ground. "Mary would be disgusted with you."

"I'm not so sure she would be overjoyed with you, either, John." Conner's voice rose and his face flared crimson. "You've corrupted her children, raised them in the company of heretics and mercenaries."

"I've given them a family." John roared. "That's all Mary ever wanted for herself. And for her boys."

The man shrank in the presence of Winchester's anger. He took a few faltering steps away from the livid hunter. These men were capable of violence and Conner suddenly felt very alone and outnumbered.

"Johnathan." Jim Murphy's voice was strong, soothing. Like a stout shot of whiskey. "The past is unchangeable."

Charles glanced towards the minister, his eyes misting over. He cleared his throat. "Maybe my daughter and I have more in common than I imagined. I only wanted my family back."

"Right." John snorted, unable to empathize with the man. Jim had told him more than once since the entire mess had started that he and Charles had a great deal in common-a love for Mary and the devastating loss of her life. But hurt blinded him to that elusive mutual ground. He took another step towards Conner, even as he felt Jim's eyes on him. "You wanted a family? That's a good one Charles. You wanted a legacy. Those are two very different things."

This time Pastor Jim's gaze went to Conner and his words held a hint of pity. "There are better ways to gain affection than manipulation." As much as the minister understood John's anger, he was always one who saw an opportunity for healing and took it. "The expanse of a child's heart is wondrous, Mr. Conner. Especially when the child is as caring as your grandson. Both of them are quite remarkable."

Charles looked a way for a moment to stare at the skyline and regain his focus. "I would like to keep in touch with you." He swallowed his pride nearly choking on the lump in his throat, met John's gaze. "Maybe even visit the boys from time to time. Or better yet, have them visit me."

"That would have been a good place to start." Bobby interrupted. He still wasn't so sure they shouldn't have buried the man in the back forty days ago. " I mean instead of the whole black mail route. Don't you think?"

Conner frosted over again. "This really isn't any of your concern. I was speaking to John."

"I would have felt like talking a whole hell of a lot more before you took Sam." Winchester declared.

"Are you forgetting you also took my child?" Conner demanded, his level of patience deteriorating further. "With much more severe consequence I might add. She's dead!"

"So this was about revenge?" John threw his hands up. "You blame me for Mary's death, so you wait six years to cut my heart out. Is that it?"

"No." Charles ran a shaky hand over his mouth. The situation was spiraling out of control and he was not a man that handled chaos well. "I only hoped…" He paused, rubbing at his forehead. "I don't know what I hoped for. But I see now that this is impossible. **You** are impossible." Conner reached in his pocket, withdrew a folded paper. "Here." He thrust the document in John's direction.

Winchester took it, staring at the familiar legal forms. "You're really walking away?" He wasn't use to Fate cutting him a break. There had to be a hitch. "Why are you giving in?"

Conner licked his lips, thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his light jacket. "This morning I asked Samuel what he wanted to be when he grew up." The businessman eyed each of the men in front of him. "He told me he wanted to be a dragon. I'm not sure what that means, but I imagine that taking over my business is not included under that parachute." Charles sighed. "I only hope you know what you're doing."

John tore the custody paper down the middle, folded it and ripped it again. "I'm doing the best I can, Conner. That's all I can tell you."

"Mary would have expected more."

John nodded, throwing the bits of confetti at the businessman's feet. Finally they agreed on something. "Yeah. She would have."

"Tell Samuel I'll be in touch."

John snorted. "And Dean?" Mary had two sons, after all.

"If he's as much like you as I imagine, I'd say that would be a moot point."

Again, they understood one another. "You'd be right." John turned to look at Jim. He was finished talking. "I'm going to check on the boys."

Once Winchester was gone, Jim cleared his throat. Things had not gone the best they could have, but Sam was home safe. The minister would take what he could get. "I take it you will be leaving Kentucky shortly." Murphy glanced to Manuela, who remained at a distance, bearing silent witness to the exchange. "I will have Manuela escort you to the airport and make sure you are safely on your way."

"I don't need…"

The pastor held up his hand, effectively silencing Conner's protest. "Oh, I insist." He met the man's gaze. "I also find it necessary to tell you that if you so much as ever try anything like this in the future, I will be forced to consider you a threat to everything I have spent the last twenty years of my life protecting." Jim smiled. "I'm sure as a businessman you can understand that."

Conner's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried to swallow to bring moisture to his suddenly dry mouth. "I think I understand you perfectly."

"Good." Jim smiled, and looked up at Manuela who nodded. "Now if you will excuse me, I need to start dinner. It seems I have a house full of hungry boys and we have much to celebrate."

Charles watched him go and then started for his car. Bobby Singer's voice stopped him.

"You put your money on the wrong horse, Conner."

"Excuse me?" Charles stepped back slightly as Singer was suddenly in his personal space.

"The boys." Bobby scratched his whiskers, shook his head in puzzlement. "You see I've been thinking about where you screwed up for the last few days. And I've come to the conclusion you really should have taken Dean."

The businessman frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about the fact that the boy would do anything for his family. Anything. Including being your personal puppet, if it meant his brother was safe. He would have done what you asked. Sammy, on the other hand, is his daddy made over." Bobby shrugged. "Of course Caleb would have probably slit your throat in your sleep or something, but I guess we'll never know."

Conner's face reddened more. "Does this little insight of yours have a point, Singer?"

"Not really." Bobby grinned. "I just wanted to rub your face in it."

"Idiot," Charles muttered under his breath before turning his back on the other man. He stormed away, Bobby's laughter echoing in his wake.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

"Why were they acting like idiots?" Dean asked, fitting the next piece of the puzzle he and Caleb were working on in place. "You'd think they've never seen a girl before."

Reaves leaned in conspiratorially, trying to lighten the sullen mood that had descended like a dark thundercloud during breakfast. "In Bobby's case I think it's the fact the girl had all her teeth and didn't have axle grease under her nails."

"And it's not like the farm is a hot bed for the female persuasion." Joshua commented from behind his paper. He was sitting across the table from Reaves, glancing to the puzzle occasionally to instruct Caleb in the placement of a piece, much to the psychic's displeasure. "I'm sure it was a novelty."

Caleb snorted, shoving Sawyer's hand away when he tried to point out where the piece of blue sky would fit. "Jim has a secret life we don't know about. Why do you think all those widows bring him food?"

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Yes, do tell, _Damien_." Joshua lowered the newsprint.

Reaves opened his mouth, looked at Dean who was sill staring at him, but then turned his gaze to Sawyer. "Why are you in here?" Caleb gestured to the puzzle. "I thought you hated these things?"

Joshua leaned on the table, obviously enjoying himself. "No redirecting, Reaves. Dean asked you a question. Aren't you going to answer it. It seems like one of those big brother teachable moments I love to see you blunder your way through."

"Are you saying Pastor Jim has sex with lots of women? Because isn't that against the rules?"

Caleb cut his eyes back to Dean. "I didn't say that. And what do you know about sex?"

The kid shrugged. "Not much, but I know you. And you had that goofy grin on your face." Dean plucked the piece of puzzle from Caleb's hand and put it where Joshua had pointed. "Do you think Dad wants to do it with Dr. McCroy?"

"What?" Caleb was completely caught off guard. "It?"

"I think he means sex." Joshua offered, helpfully.

Reaves glared at him. "You're not allowed to join in this conversation." He turned back to Dean. "Dude, why would you say that?" Suddenly the kid's sour mood and his lack of appetite at breakfast made sense. It wasn't just about Sam.

Dean threw down the puzzle piece he was holding. "He was talking to her.They were laughing."

Caleb chuckled lightly. "Yeah. So? That doesn't mean anything. Dr. McCroy was talking to Joshua, too. Trust me, he's not getting lucky."

Dean wasn't amused. "I don't like her."

"Kid, she was here as a favor to Jim-to check everyone over."

"Well, she was checking out Dad."

Caleb glanced at the kid again, unsure where all of this was coming from. "How do you know?"

"I've been around."

That was true. Dean had been in situations that most kids his age wouldn't experience until they were years older, maybe never. "Johnny was just being nice, Deuce. Let it go."

"Like I let Sammy go?" The twelve-year-old snapped. "Maybe Dad's going to start looking for a new wife now? Forget about my mom like he did my brother. Forget about _our _family."

"Dean…" Caleb shook his head. "That's not going to happen."

"Why? Because you said so?" Dean scoffed. "Yeah because you've been right about so much here lately."

Reaves felt blind-sided, his annoyance at the attitude and undeserved below the belt sucker punch overriding his patience. Hurt Dean equaled pissed off Dean, but still. He started to open his mouth, probably to say something he would regret, but Joshua saved him.

"I believe Caleb was referring to the fact that it is quite obvious your father is still very much in love with your mother." When Dean and Caleb both looked at him in stunned surprise, Joshua shrugged. "I mean, it appears John and Mary had that rare thing that most fairytales are spun around. You told me yourself your father loved your mother more than anything. Correct?"

Dean swallowed thickly, glancing away as his eyes watered. "Yeah," he softly answered.

"Then I assume that would not change whether it be ten years or ten thousand. Don't take my word for it but my mother says true love is the only real magic in this world and she is the smartest person I know."

"Esme knows her stuff, Deuce." Reaves agreed, shooting Joshua a thankful glance. Sometimes Sawyer could surprise him. "Give your old man some credit. Have a little faith."

"And if that doesn't work look at it from Dr. McCroy's perspective. She is a beautiful, intelligent, successful physician. Your father is approaching middle age. He has a military-based pseudo education, no steady employment, no retirement plan, nor does he own property. And he has baggage in the form of two rather spoiled, petulant, ill-behaved at best, children." Joshua straightened his paper and resumed reading. "The man is no catch by any means especially for a woman of her caliber."

Caleb snorted. And then there were the moments when he remembered why he and Sawyer were not friends. "Yeah, Deuce, John is just a step above Bobby, and you know he's not getting hitched anytime soon."

"Singer has a college degree and owns his own home and business. He has an impressive portfolio of stocks and bonds. Then there is the fact that dogs have a shorter life-span and are less expensive than children." Joshua pointed out. "Despite the issue of fleas and grooming, he's much more marketable."

"Thanks for that PR profile," Caleb growled. "I think I can take it from here."

Reaves reached out and squeezed Dean's shoulder. "You listening to me, Deuce? Stop borrowing trouble. It finds you easy enough as it is."

Dean finally looked up at him, a hint of a grin playing on his lips. "Maybe we could tell Bobby she was checking out _his_ ass just to be on the safe side."

Caleb laughed. "Okay. But I've got you one better. We could get Josh to forge us some stationary from the hospital and write him a really spicey love letter."

Sawyer peered at them from over top of his paper again. "Do not include me in your childish pranks. I'll be taking my leave very soon. This job is over and some of us are not schoolboys on summer break. I have important responsibilities to return to."

"Jealous much?" Dean picked up the puzzle piece he had discarded and snapped it into place. He looked at Caleb. "It must suck to be old."

"Tell me about it." Reaves grinned. "Jim's making apple pie and homemade ice cream tonight." He sighed, rubbing his hands together in mock anticipation. "More for us kids."

Joshua stood, preparing his dramatic exit. "I should really know better than try to help either of you."

Caleb watched the other hunter leave. "He really should know better you know."

The twelve-year-old nodded. "Yeah, but who would we make fun of then?"

"True." Reaves studied another piece of the puzzle. "Look, Deuce, about what you said…about me screwing up lately."

"I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, you did. And it's okay to be pissed at me. Hell, Mac says it's normal."

Dean gave him a side-long glance. "Are you calling me normal?"

Reaves shoved him. "I'm trying to have a serious talk here."

That had Dean grinning. "Like the sex talk?"

"Not happening." Caleb shook his head. "At least not for a couple of years. You just got out of that stage where you thought all girls had cooties."

Dean seemed to think about it for a moment and then agreed. "Okay."

Caleb regained his serious expression. "I just don't want you to think this is the end. We're going to get Sammy back. You have to have some faith in Jim and Mac and your Dad."

The twelve-year-old's brow arched. "You saying I should believe in the dragons?"

"I'm saying you can't give up on the people who love you. Josh is an idiot, but what he said about all that magic shit…I think he was right on the money. Dragons might not be real, but the idea behind them is important. We all need heroes."

"Like the Musketeers?" Dean toyed with a piece of blue sky. He glanced up at Caleb. "I was awake when you were reading it last night." The kid explained.

Reaves shifted in his seat, pretending to study the puzzle again. "Mac use to read it to me when he came to the hospital where we first met." He smirked at Dean. "I told him it sucked."

Dean smiled, feeling the usual kinship with the older boy. "You wanted to be d'Artagnan. Didn't you?"

"Yeah." Caleb rolled his eyes. "And like you don't."

"I kind of like being a dragon."

" Yeah. Me too."

"But what if Sammy…what if the prince doesn't come back?"

Reaves winced, rubbing at his forehead where a sudden twinge had him fearing the return of a colossal headache. "He'll be back, Deuce." Caleb tilted his head and the frown lines marring his forehead softened. His mouth twitched. "You have to have hope."

"Now you sound like Jim."

"Well, Jim's pretty damn smart."

"What makes you so sure?"

Reaves reached out and took the boy by the shoulders, spinning him around so he was facing the door. "That does."

Dean's brow wrinkled in confusion but then as the door to The Hunter's Tomb was pulled open and the visitor Caleb had sensed only moments before appeared, Dean's eyes lit up. "Sammy!"

"Hey, Dean. I'm home!"

Dean stood up just in time for his brother to barrel into him. He grunted from the impact and Caleb reached out a hand to steady both boys. Dean still didn't have full use of his hurt leg and Sam's exuberance threatened to send them to the floor.

"Easy there, Tiger." Caleb ruffled Sam's hair. "Your brother's looking a little like WooBee these days."

"Sorry." Sam grinned, pulling back slightly. He slid out of his back pack and dropped it on the floor. "Are you okay?"

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked, ignoring the concern. "I thought…"

"Mr. Conner stopped being a dick head."

Caleb laughed. "I doubt that."

"It's true." Sam turned innocent eyes on the older hunter. "He wants me to be with my family."

Considering the twin looks plastered on both Winchester's faces, Reaves didn't really care why Conner had done what he did. He was just damn grateful the kid was back home where he belonged. "He's smarter than I thought."

Sam nodded, his face twisting in thoughtful consideration. "I think he might have been afraid of the dragons, too."

Caleb grinned. "Damn straight." Still, the reason didn't matter. He reached out and pulled the boy in for a quick hug. "Dragons kick ass."

The seven-year-old laughed. "Yeah. That's what I told him."

Reaves stood up, giving Dean's shoulder a firm squeeze. He had a feeling the boys needed some time alone. "I'm going to check on your Dad. Make sure O'Nathan Jay doesn't toast the repentant St. George."

The eldest Winchester nodded. "Thanks, Belac."

"No problem, Athewm."

Sam reached up and touched one of the bruises on his big brother's face. "Does that hurt?"

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. "I'm good, Sammy. What about you?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

"Did Conner really say you could stay?"

The little boy nodded. "For good."

Dean felt his eyes start to sting. He blinked. "That's good, little brother. Really good."

Sam's eyes lit up. "I have something else you'll like too."

Dean cleared his throat, sitting back down in the chair. "Really?"

Sam's head bobbed as he reached down and started digging through the back pack. He pulled out several dragons, handing them to Dean to hold. "Wait to you see," he said, pulling what looked like another miniature from the bag.

He quickly stood, presenting the toy to his brother. "Here." It wasn't a dragon, but instead a winged white horse, with a silver horn. "Isn't she pretty?"

Dean took the horse and studied it. "Yeah, Bro. I like it."

Sam leaned in closer, voice lowered conspiratorially. "It was Mommy's."

Dean's head jerked up in surprise. His gaze raked over the horse again, taking in the details in a new light. "What?"

The seven-year-old nodded enthusiastically. "Mommy liked stories, too. Just like me. But instead of dragons, she had horses-magical horses."

Dean turned the toy over in his hands, and he smiled. "She had one in her bedroom. I remember now." He looked at his brother. "Where did you get this, Sammy?"

"Mr. Conner gave it to me."

The oldest Winchester sibling tried to hand the horse back to Sam. "You should keep it."

"No." Sam shook his head fiercely. "I have the dragons…and you. Mommy would want you to have this to watch over you." He smiled at his brother. "I want you to have it, too. In case I have to ever go away again."

Finally, Dean nodded. "Can it live in the castle?"

"Sure," Sam agreed. "But she needs a name."

Dean sighed. He was twelve for crying out loud. "Sam…"

"Please."

There was the look. "Okay." The twelve-year-old thought for a moment. He raised his gaze to his brother's and couldn't help the rush of affection that overcame him. Sam's words echoed in his thoughts. _'I want you to have it, in case I have to go away again.'_ "How about Hope?"

Sam nodded. "I like that name."

Dean glanced down at the horse again, tracing his finger along one silver-tipped wing. "Hope will come to live in the castle." He looked up. Reaching out, he pulled his little brother against him. "But nothing or no one is going to take you away ever again."

"Promise?" Sam whispered.

Dean tightened his grip, squeezing his eyes shut. "I promise."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"Stop feeding that pup chicken under the table, Samuel," John said, with a half-hearted glare in his youngest son's direction.

"But she's hungry." Sam glanced to the pastor. "And Jim says we should share."

Murphy laughed. "I did say that, but too many table scraps won't be good for Scout, I'm afraid."

"Caleb gave her his broccoli."

"Hey." Reaves frowned. "What happened to the love, Runt?"

"You know the rule, Damien." Dean cast a snide look at the older hunter. "No vegetables, no dessert."

"More for us." Joshua helped himself to another serving of mashed potatoes. "I'm looking forward to the homemade ice cream myself."

"I thought you were leaving?" Reaves grumbled. "Don't you have a pretend life to get back to?"

"Marsha, Marsha, Marsha." Bobby chided. "Stop picking on your sister."

"Fuck you, Bobby."

"Caleb!" Mackland and Jim said in unison. "Language."

"Sorry." Reaves muttered contritely. "He started it."

"Here you go, kiddo. Doctor Liz said you needed all the vitamins you could get." John shoveled his pile of broccoli to Reaves's plate. "I'll share."

"You're all heart, man," Caleb growled.

"Someone's got to look out for you." John smirked.

Dean and Sam laughed, earning them both a heated glare from Reaves. "Freakin' brats."

"And what did the good doctor say you needed, Johnathan?" Mackland queried. "I hear it had something to do with dinner and a night of sparkling conversation?"

"I think she wanted to check his reflexes?" Bobby bobbed his eyebrows. "Maybe give him a free proctology exam."

"Bobby," Jim sighed, exasperatedly. "Not at the dinner table."

"Are you going to have sex with her?" Dean asked, looking at his father, effectively bringing all eyes to him.

A hush fell over the table. "What?" John choked on his tea, and Caleb groaned as Winchester's dark gaze flickered from his eldest son to the psychic.

"What's sex?" Sam asked, looking around at the older men.

"Caleb!" John snapped, glaring at his protégé.

"Why are you looking at me?" Reaves defended. "I told him you weren't in her league."

"Thanks." John replied sarcastically. "You're all heart."

"Yes, then I suggested Bobby was much more suitable." Joshua informed them, with a helpful smile.

"Finally someone with some sense." Singer crowed. "Good call, Slick. I knew there was a reason I liked you best."

"I mean at least on paper."

"On paper?" Bobby's brow shot up. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I think it means that as long as Liz doesn't have to look at you or smell you, then you two may have a chance." Mackland grinned, taking another bite of chicken.

"Better than the one you've got with Esme."

"Would you please leave my mother out of this!" Joshua pleaded. "She wouldn't give you heathens a second glance."

"Boys," Jim interrupted. "Let's please try to finish out dinner in peace and..."

"Are you saying my Dad's not good enough?" Caleb challenged.

Jim raised his eyes heavenward and took a deep breath, praying for patience. "Boys!"

"Josh said my dad had bratty kids and was stupid." Dean informed them.

"What?" John turned a glare on Sawyer. "You said what?"

"I was trying to help." Joshua defended.

Sam looked at Caleb. "What's sex?" He asked again around a huge mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Dean looked at his little brother. "Caleb said…"

"I didn't say anything…" Reaves cut the twelve-year-old off.

"That's enough!" Jim banged his cup down on the table. "All of you be quiet!"

"Whoa there, Jim." Caleb smirked. "That's Miss Emma's good china you're throwing around."

Another hushed silence fell.

Sam raised his hand, wiggling in his chair. "I'm done. Can Scout and I take a bath now?"

John shot a look to his youngest son who was now holding the squirming puppy. His face was covered in an array of gravy and macaroni and cheese and Scout wasn't fairing much better, her black coat stained with a variety of vegetables. He couldn't help himself.

John started laughing. Mackland was the next to crumble, with Bobby trailing quickly. Finally, Jim's face split with a smile. "Just this once, I think she would give me her blessing."

"But how would she feel about you having sex with Widow Hensen?" Dean asked.

Caleb reached out and put a hand over Dean's mouth. "What about that pie?"

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

A/N: Wow! I can't believe it's over. When I started Dragons and then continued with Phoenix, I wanted to tell a story about grief and loss-as that is an area I have always been interested in.

It began with the physical loss of Sam in Dragons-and that story was very much about him and perhaps the first piece of innocence he lost because of the life the Winchester's lead. Not to mention watching the other hunters deal with their own loss of power and control. Illusions us humans depend on. I meant for it not to be a supernatural phenomena that shook their foundation, but one grounded in every day life, so we could all empathize.

Phoenix was more about Dean and how he had to come to terms with being without his brother and hopefully find the elusive faith that would allow him to go on. Dean's heart is his most amazing quality. One that I think draws the television viewer and reader to him. I also think it's why he is so fragile, despite his fierce strength. Caleb represents my belief that we all yearn for someone to be in our corner-to be our biggest fan. To protect and love us no matter what. The kind of love Dean has for Sam. I believe Dean deserves that , too. Not that Sammy doesn't love his big brother just as much, only that it is his role to be protected by Dean, and a reversal of that is almost impossible for Dean to accept.

The serial killer represented that fear I think we all have of the unknown lurking in the darkness-waiting to steal our happiness. And it afforded some moments for hurt comfort(grin). After all, this was a work of fan fiction.

One of my favorite quotes I found was that 'hope begins in the dark'. That seemed to sum up what I wanted to illustrate. Because in the end I wished for it to be a tale about Magic and Hope and their place in everyone's lives. Tidia and I joke about those elusive concepts a lot.

But working with clients I find that grief is the number one issue. Whether it's a loss of a loved one, a loss of a sense of one's self, loss of independence or in the worst cases a loss of one's way in the world. Grief is insidious. But it's necessary.

Suffering makes us who we are. It gives us a chance to reinvent ourselves and find out how incredibly strong and resilient the human spirit is. A phoenix was the perfect symbol to embody that, as was the dragon for magic.

I'm not saying either of these stories accomplished what I hoped, nor could they ever touch on the true wonder of the magnificent capacity we all have inside us to carry on. But I think in the end, I kind of painted a picture of what I tell clients. Hope isn't some mystery beyond our grasp, it's alive everywhere. Especially in those little everyday miracles like sitting down to dinner with one's family, a bubble bath, a child's innocent wonder, the sweet smell of puppy breath, and a piece of homemade apple pie. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing both these stories, and for your kind comments and suggestions. I couldn't have done it without you. Or without Tidia. She's awesome! -Ridley.

Now for that spoiler I promised….

Pawns:

Prologue for To The Victor Goes the Spoils

New York

June 2007

Dr. Mackland Ames was exhausted. He had just returned on a midnight flight from Boston, and was ready for nothing more heralding than a stiff drink and the recap of the Yankees game he had missed while gone on yet another impromptu trip.

Heading up the current Triad without any back-up was beginning to take a toll, not only on his work, but his personal life also. He hadn't spent a full week in New York in more than a month. Peace and quiet were beckoning to him.

Yet, as most things these days, Mackland's desires were discounted. He smelled the strong aroma of cigar smoke as soon as he opened the door to his apartment. The main lights of the home were off, but a faint glow from the living room caught his attention. Someone was there.

Caleb crossed his mind. His son didn't smoke and was currently with the Winchesters sorting out their latest deadly run in with the demon. He removed the gun from his briefcase. There was no luxury of taking chances. Battle lines had been drawn; shots were being fired from all sides. Ames sighed. He never imagined living the cloak and dagger lifestyle. Yet, here he was.

Mackland quietly sat his bags at the door, holding his weapon at the ready. All he really needed now was a flower-print Hawaiian shirt and a Ferrari. Dean would have been amused.

Ames peered around the corner, allowing him a view of the living room and the entrance to the hallway. A tall figure was standing in front of the large glass windows overlooking the Manhattan sky-line. Mackland raised his gun, aiming at the back of the intruder's head.

"You should be careful where you point that thing, Mackland. Someone could get hurt." The man's voice was deep and held an amused timbre that grated on Ames's nerves. The fact he hadn't been able to see or hear Mackland's silent approach yet knew he was there confirmed the doctor's suspicions. His visitor was a psychic.

"Griffin."

The dark man turned, a smile lighting his refined features. "I hope you don't mind that I helped myself to some brandy." He held up the crystal tumbler. "You have exquisite taste." Griffin nodded to their surroundings. "In many things."

It had been years since Mackland had seen the man in person. Almost eighteen to be exact, but Griffin Porter hadn't changed much. His dark hair had turned mostly silver as had his slight beard, but the dark eyes still held a smug air of intelligence and challenge.

Mackland lowered his gun slightly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was in the city." Griffin gestured towards the window. "I recalled you lived here and thought I might drop in for a short visit. Especially in light of all that has happened."

Ames shook his head. "You were in the neighborhood?"

"So to speak." Griffin smiled. "How are you?"

"In light of all that has happened, I'm doing well."

Porter sighed heavily, staring into the glass of amber liquid. "We've had several losses as of late."

"Jim died almost a year ago."

Griffin looked up and his smile faltered. "So he did. Life is not as interesting with The Guardian gone."

"You mean you're able to go about your treachery much more freely?"

"Treachery?" Porter moved to the intricate mantle, the center piece of the Ames home. He picked up a framed photo and studied it. "I figured you to have more important matters than keeping up with my comings and goings."

"Jim made it a point to keep his eyes on potential trouble for The Brotherhood."

"I am no threat to The Brotherhood."

"Then you didn't send Ian Hastings and Silas Fox to attack my son and the Winchesters?"

Griffin lifted the picture he was holding. "They've grown into men since the last time I saw them," he replied, not answering the doctor's question.

Mackland strode forward and took the frame from the other hunter. It was of the boys and Jim, taken at the farm, not long after Sam graduated high school. One of the last times they were all together before Sam left for Stanford, and John went off on his lone crusade. "They're no longer boys." He held Griffin's gaze. "I'm sure that's disappointing for a the schoolyard bully."

"Can't we let bygones be bygones, Mackland? Perhaps find a way to work together? After all a war is coming. In fact, it has already begun."

"You kidnapped and tortured my son and my best friend's children. They nearly died on that mountain." Ames stepped closer to the older man. "And you have the nerve to come here and ask for some type of forgiveness. You were lucky to keep your life."

"I did what I had to do."

"You committed mutiny and you didn't care who you hurt to get what you wanted. Jim only let you live because you inaverdently saved the boys' lives."

"You know nothing of that time or what I was trying to accomplish!" Griffin's face twisted in anger. "You could never understand the ramifications of what I was attempting to do. Even now we are all feeling the after effect of my failure."

"You're right. I could never understand how or why you would do such a thing." The man had been like a brother to Jim. Murphy had relied on him, trusted his confidence. That all changed one chilling week in December 1989. Mackland would never forget the fateful phone call. Perhaps Griffin was correct when he said the past was alive in the present. The fear of those days was a bitter memory-one that would never allow him to trust anything Griffin Porter said or did.

New York

December 1989

"Dr. Ames?" Naomi stuck her head in the door of Mackland Ames's office. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have an urgent phone call on line two."

The doctor glanced at the two detectives and the distraught mother and father they had brought with them and frowned. "I'm so sorry." He shot his research assistant a questioning glance. "Could it possibly wait, Naomi?"

The Morgan's little girl had disappeared from a mall yesterday. Karen Morgan had turned around for only a moment in the crowded shopping center and Bethany had been taken.

Naomi shrugged apologetically. She had been Dr. Ames's research assistant for only a few months, but even she could read the look of frustration on his handsome face "The man on the line seemed quite distressed."

Mac sighed. _Distressed_ could describe anyone from a former patient to one of his closest friends. "I promise this will only take a moment," he explained to his visitors, stepping to the relative privacy of his desk. "This is Mackland Ames."

"_Are the boys with you?" _

The voice was undeniable. Mac frowned when he easily picked up on the uncharacteristic panic. "John, what's wrong?"

"_The boys…are they with you?"_

"John, I haven't spoken with the boys."

"_Could Jim have picked them up?"_

"Where are you?"

"_Virginia."_

"John, I talked to Jim yesterday. He was in Kentucky, where he was expecting you in the next few days."

"_Where's Caleb?" _

"John, what's going on?"

"_Damn it, Mackland. Could Caleb have picked up the boys? He's out of school for Christmas break, isn't he? He was planning to come to Jim's?" _

"Caleb's hunting, John." Mac lowered his voice. "Joshua is in Europe and Bobby needed some assistance with something in Georgia. I told Caleb he could help him as long as he was at the farm before Christmas Eve."

"_But if Dean called him…"_

"Caleb wouldn't have taken the boys without asking you John. Talk to me."

"_They're not here, Mackland. I've just been gone a few days. God…I talked to them last night." _

"What do you mean they're not there?"

"_We've been staying at my grandfather's old place in Virginia..."_

Mac had been to the rundown farmhouse once. It wasn't the best place to be in the warmer months, let along Winter. But it was free, and John usually headed in that direction when hustling and the credit card schemes were insufficient.

"_They had supplies and a phone. I ordered them to stay in the house. It snowed here last night…" _

Dean and Sam were boys and expecting them to stay cooped up inside when a wintry wonderland lay just beyond the window was expecting much.

"John, have you checked the barn, anywhere they might like to play?"

"_I'm not an idiot, Mac! I've been looking for hours. It'll be dark soon, and their coats are here. Besides, they've both had colds. There's no way Dean would wander off."_

Mackland ran a hand over his mouth. "Just take it easy, John. I'll be on the next flight. You stay there in case the boys show up. We'll fix this."

"_God, Mac, what if something took them…What if that thing that got Mary…" _

"John." Ames cut his friend off, not able to bear the pain and fear clinging to each breathy word. "We'll find them."

Mackland placed the phone back in it's carriage and stood on less than steady legs. He looked at Bethany's parents. Gone was the wall between them and the good doctor- the distance painfully bridged by instant empathy. "I'm sorry. We'll have to speed things along." He took a deep breath and moved towards the couple who were looking at him as if he were a miracle worker. "I'm afraid I have a family crisis of my own."

Coming Soon


End file.
